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WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



OR. 



ON AND OFF SOUNDINGS; 



inng f Mtes fwm s fritotf |Bttrnal 



BY A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE. 



<... . 



i^ ^ W^-l*«4l3»F'Wl*^'""'^^*^'' 




, : ^'■*•■JiI■--*"™■"~~'Cc'<'■■''/•^ N. 






T. B. PETERSON, No. 102 CHESNUT STREET. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 

T. B. PETERSON, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, 
in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 






CONTENTS. 



RUNNING TITLE, 

Opening the Journal, . . 
Adventure in Search of Ruin 
Parting Tribute to Love, . 
Three Desperate Days ! 
The Poetry of Sea Sickness, 
The Red Flannel Night Cap, 
A Ship by Moonlight, . . ' 
Arrival in London, . . 
The Parks of London, . 
Poet's Corner — Westminster 

Abbey . . 
England's Monuments, 
Madame Taussaud's Wax 

Works, . . . 
The "Beauties" of Hampton 

Court, 

Love and Philosophy, . . 
"Love's Labor Lost," . . 
A Peep at "The Shades," 
The Modern " Aspasia," . 
Noble Plea for Matrimony, 
The Lily on the Shore ! 
English Mother and Amei'ican 

Daughter, .... 
The "Maid of Normandie," 
An Affecting scene, . 
" Paris est un Artist," 
The Guillotine, .... 
" Give us Another !" . . 
Post Mortem Reflections, . 
Fashionable Criticism, . . 
Whiskey Punch and Logic ! 
" Shylock asks for Justice !" 
"Lorette" and " Grisette," 
Kissing Day, . . 
The Tattoo, . . . 
The Masked Ball, , 
The Incognita, . . 
The Charms of Paris, 



PAGE 
7 

9 
11 
13 
15 
17 
19 
21 
23 

25 

27 

29 

81 
33 
35 
37 
39 
41 
43 

45 
47 
49 
51 
63 
55 
57 
59 
61 
63 
65 
67 
69 
71 
73 
75 



RUNNING TITLE, 

Changing Horses, . . 
Abelard and Heloise, . 
A View in Lyons, . . 
Avignon — Petrarch and Laura, 
Our First Ruin, .... 
The Unconscious Blessing, 
A Crash and a Wreck ! . . 
The Rail Road of Life, . . 
A Night Adventure, . . 
"The Gods take care of Cato, ' 
The Triumphs of Neptune, 
The Marquisi's Foot, . 
Beauties of Naples' Bay, 
Natural History of the Lazza 

roni, 

The True Venus ! . . 
Love and Devotion, . 
The Morality of Pompeii, 
Procession of the Host, 
The Ascent of Vesuvius, 
The Mountain Emetic, . 
The Human Projectile, 
The City of the Soul ! . 
The Coup de Main, . 
Night in the Coliseum ! 
Catholicity Considered, 
Power Passing away ! . 
Byron among the Ruins ! 
A Gossip with the Artists, 
Speaking Gems! . . . 
" Weep for Adonis !" . 
The Lady and the God, 
The Science of Palmistry 
" Sour Grapes!" . 
A Ramble about Tivoli, 
Illumination of St. Peter's 
The "Niobe of Nations, 
A Ghostly Scene ! . . 
" Honi soit qui mal y pense," 

. (3) 



PAGE 

77 
79 
81 
83 
85 
87 
89 
91 
93 
95 
97 
99 
101 

103 
105 
107 
109 
111 
113 
116 
117 
119 
121 
123 
125 
127 
129 
131 
133 
135 
137 
139 
141 
143 
145 
147 
149 
151 



CONTENTS. 



BUNNING TITLE, PAGE 

A " Ball" without music, . • 153 

Scenes on the Road, . . . 155 

The "Tug of War!" ... 157 

" There they are, by Jove !" . 159 

The Raven-Haired one ! . . 161 

Heaven and Hell ! .... 163 

The "Hamlet" of Sculpture, 165 

The Modem Susannah, . . 167 

Hey, Presto ! Charge ! . . . 169 

The Death Scene of Cleopatra, 171 

A Eulogy on Tascany, . . . 173 

A Real Claude Sunset, . . . 175 

Tasso and Byron, .... 177 

The Shocking Team ! ... 179 

Floatings in Venice, . . . 181 

The Venetian Girls, . . . 183 

The Bell-crowned Hat ! . . 185 

The "Lion's Mouth!" . . . 187 

The "Bridge of Sighs!" . . 189 



RUNNING TITLE, PAGE 

A Subteri'anean Fete! . . . 191 

Byron and Moore in Venice, • 193 

Diana and Endymion, . . . 195 

The Pinch of Snuff, .... 197 

The Rock-Crystal Coffin ! . . 199 

Eccentricity of Art, . . . 201 

Thoughts in a Monastery, . 203 

The Lake of Como, .... 205 

The Immortal Drummer Boy, 207 

Wit, and its Reward ! ... 209 

The Cold Bath ! 211 

" Here we are !" .... 213 

The Mountain Expose . . . 215 

The " Last Rose of Summer," 217 

Waking the Echoes, . . . 219 

Watching the Avalanche ! . . 221 
A Beautiful Incident, . . .223 

A Shot with the Long Bow, . 226 

Mt. Blanc and a Full Stop, . 227 



PKEFACE. 



My grandmother once said, after the rather 
dexterous removal of a lump of sugar, by 
means of a string, from the sugar bowl, "That 
Boy is a genius 1" 

I did not much notice the remark at the 
time, for I was too intent upon the sugar — but 
some years after the Principal of a somewhat 
famous Boarding school quietly observed of the 
same Boy, " There's something in that fellow !" 
whereupon I attempted to get it out in the 
shape of a Pasquinade on the said Principal's 
florid Physiognomy — which attempt forthwith 
resulted in a flogging. From that time I l^t 
whatever was in me stay there until I was 
forced to write these leaves from a necessity 
of my nature, and I am downright certain 
they deserve just as severe a flogging as the 
aforesaid Pasquinade called forth. I could avoid 
this by retaining them — but what has an indo- 
lent man to do when a pair of cjdindrical rollers, 

1* (5) 



6 ■ PREFACE. 



armed with their type, have once caught hold 
of the margin of his paper? he must let go — 
or be dragged out of his chair — so I let it go 

and (theatrically speaking) be . 

The "Gentleman of Leisure." 

Philadelphia, May 1853. 



WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD; 



OR, 



ON AND OFF SOUNDINGS. 



COMPRISING LEAVES FROM THE PRIVATE JOUR- 
NAL OF A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE. 



< ^ » » » 



LEAF I. 

OPENING THE JOURNAL. 

Ship Susquehanna, 18 — . 
If any kind friend just now standing at our elbow were 
to inquire for what purpose we had prepared this pen and 
paper, and were to hint at the folly of attempting a 
movement in the journalizing line, we should reply by 
asking him why an owl shrieks or a jackass brays. They 
must be aware of the shocking sound they both produce, 
and yet they delight in its repetition. Man, through more 
rational, is not less vain of his production, and so long as 
it tickles his ear, will indulge in the luxury, and will never 
cease to wonder why others are not equally delighted. 
Besides, there is no harm in pointing one's ears and 
having a quiet bray to oneself in one's own stable — only 
keep away from the public common. To have a journal is 
hardly considered criminal, but to allow the monstrosity to 

(7), 



8 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

propagate in print should be regarded as a Penitentiary 
offence — particularly one's European twaddle — for, from 
the birth of Caesar's Commentaries down to the weakly 
pregnancy of Willis, there has probably been more literary 
abortions of the travelling order than any Lying-in-Hospital 
could ever boast — a large Museum could be stocked with 
them — some attenuated to a thread — some dropsical and 
others bloated — some without heads — but the most part 
with the imaginative organs exploded — too much steam 
in that section — indeed, it is melancholy to see the 
numerous victims to this publishing mania. Now, when 
a man has once ascertained that history has no occasion for 
his services, and that his star is among the " undistinguished 
many," he may be excused the little vanity that dictates 
the private records of his own transcendant egotism. 
Upon his own paper he may be allowed to transcribe the 
different phases of his individual existence, and with the 
gratified pride of a " Solitaire," see self reflected from 
every angle of vision. This is true greatness. The 
Patriot in Fame's Annals stands side by side with Fame's 
Bastards, and that man must be well versed in Heraldry 
who can detect the "Bar sinister" in the Escutcheon; — 
the day has gone by when a nation dies, because it has no 
poet — each man now, like the Bunker Hill monument, as 
the "God-like Daniel" remarked, has become his own 
orator, and he must be the veriest blockhead who would 
rush to fire another Ephesian dome when the essence of 
Fame bubbles up from his own inkstand. No. Perish 
such a thought ! The man of Genius seeks neither to 
build nor to destroy — the tops of monuments are to him as 
the level plain, and when the "guadia popularis" or the 
"itch scribendi" threatens him, he quietly retires to his 
own study and builds himself up in the pages o^ his 
diurnal weakness — his Journal — sweet food of selfishness ! 



'^ ADVENTURE IN SEARCH OF RUIN." 9 

pure manna of desert Egotism ! Let your warriors and 
your statesmen take their airing from the tops of marble 
monuments and in dignified silence greet the rising sun — 
they were born for such a purpose — while we were pre- 
destined to the quiet enjoyment of a Louis Quatorze, and 
the sweet oblivion of a "siesta." If there was any defect 
in the original fragments which constitute our humanity, 
it consists in a small superabundance of the propensity 
called "touring;" — we have a perfect passion for ruins, 
and we recollect when a mere boy, being struck with the 
picturesque beauty of an old stable. Whether this innate 
desire was not the effect of some predisposing cause, has 
always been a difficult question with us, and we have since 
partly concluded that a man must be born in a hovel to 
fully appreciate the "rents of time," the stern "magnifi- 
cence of fell decay." Were we in want of a title to our 
Journal, we might most truthfully call it " an adventure in 
search of Ruin" — it would be a singular intention. Most 
men seek the picturesque from mere motives of idlesse, or 
to avoid pressing debts — some few go in the Timon mood 
of misanthropy to see an emblem of themselves in some 
leaning tower or some hollow cavern, and others from a 
sensuality of eye which requires constant feeding. Now 
we go because we cannot help it. Ruins are our evil 
genius — our destiny. They haunt us like the " white 
horse" of the Buccaneer — afar off we see the evidence of 
their presence, and their irresistible spirit beckons us ; — 
this appetite seems insatiable, and nothing will content 
our soul until, Marius-like, we shall be seated upon the 
ruins of a world. Be it so — we go forth a victim to ivy — 
the martyr of deserted Abbeys. All hail ! ye crumbling 
remnants ! But stop — let me go on deck and see my 
counti^ fade into the blue of heaven — let us say " good 
night" while yet the setting sun still gives a dim reflection 



10 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

of her hills. In that blue strip which hangs like a cloud 
upon the horizon sleep all mj memories — in its embrace 
lie triumphs and defeats — from this far-off point I see the 
specula — the phantom of my past life — I see an image 
struggling with a tie it cannot break — I see it pleading — 
embracing — blessed — soft eyes are glowing with fondness 
and the pressure of a wanton lip speaks a fearful purpose. 
Never — oh never — did the mirror of seer or alchymist in 
all its height of fable reflect so bright a vision ! — but lo ! 
another phantom — all is faded — gone — was it Fancy or 
was it Fact ? 

On the foam of the billow, 

'Mid the roar of the deep — '■ 
On the calm of my pillow, 

When the Tempest's asleep — 
At the blush of the morning, 

When far o'er the sea. 
The gold of its dawning 

Comes flashing and free — 
At the darkling of daylight, 

When slow sinks the sun. 
With the pride of a monarch 

Whose conquest is won — 
In the hour of my sorrow, 

In the moments of bliss, 
I will think of thy voice, love, 

rilthinkofthy kiss. 

On the banks of the Douro, 

'Mid the groves of old Spain, 
W^hen the wanton Bolero 

Wakes passion again— 
In the halls of Alhambra, 

Where marbled appears 
The splendor of kingdoms^ 

The ruin of years — ^ 



PARTING TRIBUTE TO LOYE. 11 

By the side of the fountain, 

In the noise of its mirth, 
'Mid the depths of the mountain. 

Where the Bandit has birth — 
In the hour of silence, 

'Mid vesper and prayer, 
I will think of our vows, love, 

ni wish thou wert there, 

In the beauty of Florence, 

Where Art has her home — 
'Mid the grandeur of Venice, 

The ashes of Borne — 
In the wrecks of past glory. 

Whose skeletons seem, 
In the vagueness of story, 

The things of a dream — 
In the Carnival's madness, 

When riot runs free, 
And revel wins sadness, 

To share in its glee — 
In the midst of their rapture, 

In visions like this, 
I will think of thy voice, love, 

I'll think of thy kiss. 

In the hush of the midnight. 

When weary and lone, 
The shadows shall haunt me 

Of days that are gone— 
And remembrance shall tell me 

How like in my pride, 
To the half-buried column 

That sleeps by my side ; 
No Temple to claim it. 

No worship to share — 
Alone in its ruin. 

Alone in despair. 
Oh ! then in my anguish. 

How soothing the bliss ! 
To think of thy voice, love, 

To think of thy kiss ! 



12 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

Next to the gratification of a long-cherished revenge, 
and we will confess it is a glorious feeling, we know of 
no luxury equal to that of winning the love of a proud 
woman against her will — against her better judgment — 
against her sense of duty. It is your phantom ships alone 
that sail against wind and tide — but speaking of ships, 
there is quite an increase of motion in our own, and I feel 
a decidedly unpleasant sensation about the intellectual 
portion of my head. '' It must be so." Neptune, thy 
decrees are irrevocable — we feel thy tribute must be ho- 
nored, and with the decency of Caesar, we retire. 



Three desperate days ! Gods ! what a retrospect ! It 
seems like an eternity of spasmodic suffering — talk of 
amputation ! mental anxiety — chronic disease — why what 
is the whole catalogue of human ills compared to this attic 
salt ! — this bilious dissolution — this sea-emetic ? For three 
days we lay upon our back gazing at vacuity with a sort 
of defiant air, something like the look a negro would 
throw out in giving Hamlet's soliloquy. Did we dare to 
cast a side glance into the cabin, every thing there had a 
saltatory motion which was very affecting. Did the 
slightest vapor of a culinary preparation waft itself towards 
us, immediately the peristaltic motion became excessive, 
and we were forced to surrender ! Did we attempt the 
delicate operation of swallowing a morsel and effect an 
insurance by the aid of brandy, we soon, by a species of 
" second sight" saw the identical tit-bit re-appear with 
trimmings. Did we venture upon a resurrection, and in 
the fulness of despair succeed in obtaining a vertical posi- 
tion, our fancied stroll into the cabin became a matter of 
doubtful propriety — we found it very necessary before 
relinquishing our hold upon one point to discover what 
Archimides wanted, in order to balance ourselves properly 



THREE DESPERATE DAYS ! 13 

upon another— -tlien came a series of Polka steps with the 
trunks, chairs, &c., until we finally landed upon the very 
spot we were seeking to avoid. It was one eternal motion 
— the sweet sense of rest seemed banished — our elbows 
wore lacerated, our muscles weary with continued tension. 
The single benefit we derived from all this misery was a 
skill in dodging which would win laurels on a field of bat- 
tle. Once, and once only, during these memorable " three 
days," we succeeded in reaching the deck— we smiled in 
perfect desperation at the prospect — the last pufis of a 
northern gale, the author of all our misery, were sweep- 
ing an ocean of foam — every sail was close-reefed, and the 
ice glittered on every rope — some apparently galvanised 
beings were careening in a leaning attitude along the deck 
— one yellow-haired individual with pan in hand had just 
deposited '' dinner for two" in the lee scuppers, and was 
gathering himself up with the aid of a rope— he cast a 
lingering look upon the spoiled banquet, but found no 
answering consolation in the pale aspect of the potatoes, 
or the calm solidity of the unhappy beef — there it lay, 
sublimely passive to every action of the intruding sea^ — 
and the only sign of interest which it called forth was a 
wicked kick from the cook, and such a laugh from the 
sailors I Although a gentlemanly promenade was out of 
the question, we essayed a step or two towards the com- 
panion way — it was a falsetto movement — still we perse- 
vered, and in one moment more would have been safely 
under cover, but alas ! the ship just then gave a tremen- 
dous lurch and the surplus liquid drenched us to the skin. 
It was delicious— with the philosophy of a martyr and the 
patience of a Christian, we descended to our berth and 
soliloquized upon the ''Poetry of Ocean." This was then 
the beautiful element in which the " Almighty's form 
glasses itself in Tempest." We turned on our side and 

2 



14 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



went to sleep — anon a shout — a tramp — a crash; as if 
the day of doom impended. "VYe looked toward the stair- 
way — it was already midnight, and the cabin lamp burned 
dimly — a figure in rather primitive apparel rushed from 
the opposite berth — " Heavens ! what is the matter 1" 
said the trembling apparition. It did not wait for a 
reply — but seizing one boot and a pair of drawers, 
dashed up the stairway. Oh ! what singular locomotion 
it presented! Such legs ! and such a short shirt! and 
then the solitary boot 1 It looked like a disturbed Fla- 
mingo taking wing. We laughed until the tears started to 
our eyes. 

Next morning we discovered that the spanker boom 
had unshipped, and carried away half the round house. 
Our friend with the short shirt had been too much alarmed 
to give an intelligible account of the difficulty. He 
probably imagined that he should be called upon to 
swim, and had provided himself with one boot for bal- 
last — what else he intended to do with it we cannot 
conceive. 



Neptune is not yet perfectly satisfied — he made another 
attack upon us this morning, and we had a slight difficulty 
in getting safely through breakfast. It is now dinner 
time, and we feel no inclination to renew the labour. 
What a perfect mockery is the sound of that dinner bell I 
yet what delight the steward takes in ringing it — there is 
a quiet smile about the corner of his mouth (or rather 
about the extremity of an immense gash, for the Ethiopian 
has a tremendous pair of lips) whenever called upon to 
perform this tintinabulary duty — the villain is aware of 
our inability to consume the nauseating viands, and amuses 
himself at the excessive delicacy of our appetite : there is 
an ironical excess of courtesy in his invitation to feed. 



THE POETRY OF SEA SICKNESS. 15 

and a sort of " come if jou dare" — " come if you can" 
sound to his bell, which would provoke any thing but a 
sea-sick man — there is certainly no self-abandonment to 
be compared to the absolute recklessness of the victim to 
salt water — he lays down upon any spot — in any condition 
— perfectly indifferent whether the vessel sinks or swims — 
his whole existence — his whole soul — every hope and fear 
is just then centred in his liver, and his only desire is to 
turn himself inside out as you would a turkey's gizzard. 
There is Y — — at this moment in a horrid state — coiled 
up like a torpid constrictor in a corner of the sternboat, 
and basking in the sun. One would suppose from the 
desperate energy with which he has fastened his hat upon 
his head, that he never intended to take it off again in 
this world — well ! he is in the last stage of temporary 
relaxation — in the negative enjoyment of bilious repose — - 
he is comparatively happy — and fondly imagines that the 
last link that bound him to his breakfast is broken — but 
were we barbarian enough to whisper the word ' gravy' in 
his ear, the evil spirits would gather, and you would soon 
see him steadfastly looking down into the deep sea like a 
searcher after truth, or hanging over the side of the boat 
in imitation of a dead eel. Oh ! it is horrible ! one could 
even have a tooth drawn without displaying any additional 
symptoms of agony. It is the highest burlesque of 
pathos — indeed, in the whole history of "broken hearts," 
there is nothing so touching as the languid '' Go away 
now" of a sea sick damsel — ^it is pathetic — distressing — - 
ghastly — and perhaps the only time when one willingly 
obeys the "go away" of a pretty mouth. There are 
some feelings which require as much skill to analyze 
as the dissection of a fly — and it has often puzzled us 
to discern why Emma B — — ever married that stick 
of a husband — the mystery was revealed when she con- 



16 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

fessed that they had been sea-sick together. Alas ! for 
human nature and a rough sea ! alas ! for the Poetry of 
Ocean in a gale ! it is the home of humiliation — the grave 
of ideality — the season for mortality taking mortals cap- 
tive — the emphatic " Pshaw !" to novel writers and 
heroes. 



LEAF II. 

Ship Susquehanna, 18 — . 
Among the list of passengers we number two dogs and 
a raccoon— -there is among the steerage passengers quite 
a pretty Welsh girl and an original genius with yellow 
locks and a bell-shaped "gossamer," large enough to do 
honor to the tower of Notre Dame — also, a negro, but he 
belongs to the crew, and is pithily denominated " Sails," 
from being employed upon the wings of our craft. He of 
the yellow hair has been baptized Robert, and seems the 
descendant of a very devotional family, as all his features 
have an upward tendency. He is at present occupied as a 
sort of general runner between the steerage cabin and the 
water casks, with an occasional digression to the cooking 
stove ; the latter employment has, however, been consigned 
to safer hands, as Robert's "upturned gaze" has been the 
frequent cause of mishap in the transportation of the 
culinary matter. When not employed, he is to be found 
gazing pensively upon the heavens, with his left hand sunk 
knee-deep into his breeches pocket, and his lower jaw 
hanging like the lid of a mouse-trap. What glorious 
visions may flit before him in these dreamy moods is 



THE EED FLANNEL NIGHT CAP 17 

impossible to imagine ; but they are generally broken in 
upon by a vicious spurt of the sea, which recalls Robert 
from the bliss of nectar to the dreariness of "heavy wet." 
He immediately removes his " gossamer," and gazes 
piteously upon it with somewhat of the agony of Lear 
when he speaks to the storm — and then quietly withdraws 
to the shelter of the forward cabin. "We of the Patrician 
order number only five with the captain. The ladies' cabin 
has but one representative — fat, old and unmanageable — a 
deep-dyed English woman — full of prejudice and fear — she 
gives an agonizing "oh! ah!" with every pitch of the 
vessel, and does nothing but wonder when we will arrive at 
Liverpool. We sometimes managed to hoist her upon deck, 
but her presence is a certain harbinger of rain, so we per- 
suaded her to remain below, and she now drugs herself to 
sleep. The stewardess is very anxious that we should see 
the " old lady" in her " night cap," but our curiosity in that 
line is confined to young girls with very black hair and 
long eye lashes — they looked so wicked — so Bohemienne 
in a night cap — we never had our own wife to try experi- 
ments on, but it is our candid bachelor opinion that if 
women who do not put their hair up in paper, will insist 
upon going to bed with a close-ruffled night cap on, and 
not allow one single lock of hair to escape — but nonsense 
— what in the world have such things to do with our 
Journal? We never touch upon "night caps" without 
being led astray — but really, when a man has once seen a 
woman in a night cap, he has seen the worst, and if he 
continued satisfied, there is no excuse in not proposing. 

Mrs. N once dared the hazard of as ugly a night cap 

as I could find. I put a red flannel one upon her head. 
She tossed the nasty thing racily upon one side " a la 
Grec" — pulled the tassel over her left eye, jumped up, 
kissed me, and looked too sweet for earth — but then she 
B 2* 



18 WILD OATS; SOWN ABROAD. 

was a genius — perhaps after all, it was the kiss made the 
divinity of the thing — these women have so much tact 
— they know exactly the " when and where" to play the 
amiable. 



We have reached the Grand Bank, and are becalmed — 
the sea without a ripple — the sky without a cloud — beauti- 
ful to look upon, but horrible to endure. We have tried 
every thing — but every thing seems wearisome — reading is 
a bore — writing is laborious — the constant flap of the sail, 
the regular heave of the ocean — the desire to proceed — 
the certainty of temporary delay — all tend to create an 
irritability of temper visible in every body ; even Robert 
has lost his equanimity and has taken to whistling — the 
spouting of the whales amused him some at first, but that 
novelty is over. For ourselves, like the Great Frederick, 
we shall conjugate the verb "Ennuyer" — for we are really 
at a loss what else to undertake — we have already operated 
upon one of the dogs, and dissected the tips of his ears 
with the accuracy of a Yelpeau — we then tried to get up a 
fight with the raccoon, but the "old coon" won't fight; 
we next took to ogling the Welsh girl, but we detected a 
dirty stocking — that grave of sentiment ! Wonder if an 
" Ave Maria" would bring a breeze ! but no ! we will 
reserve that as our "forlorn hope." Here goes for 
brandy and water, the best provocative to meditation. 
What a cold-blooded villain that steward is ! He abso- 
lutely smiled the first day he brought us brandy and 
^ater — but we forgive him now; it was our hour of 
weakness, and few persons can be heroes in the eyes 
of a ship-steward — Napoleon Bonaparte could not stand 
the sea, for he lay down the whole of the voyage to 
Eo"ypt, and it must be remembered that Caesar had not 
yet embarked when he talked so proudly about carrying 



A SHIP BY MOONLIGHT. 



" Caesar and his fortunes." I suspect he lowered his tone 
when it came to the tossing of himself and his vitals. 



Oct. 19, 18 — . To-day we have a stiff breeze — eleven 
knots per hour — studding sails set and the spray flying — 
but my head is fizzy — we attribute that to a little spiritual 
unction indulged in last night. It is rather strange that 
my appetite should be so indifferent, and my nerves of 
taste so completely revolutionized ; nothing tastes natural ; 
besides, this confounded dampness is excessively annoying ; 
wherever you put your hand it sticks like a plaster ; — even 
one's pockets — those sacred recesses — are not dry. It may 
be very pleasant for some people to be at sea, but we shall 
rejoice exceedingly when we once more touch the solid 
stratum. By the way, this morning, Robert made a de- 
monstration with his left arm and planted a flush blow upon 
the face of some unfortunate steerage passenger ; what 
had raised his ire to this pitch we could not ascertain^ — the 
"gossamer" acted quite a conspicuous part in the business, 
and was seen to roll some distance from the scene of action. 
The captain soon interfered, and order was re-established. 
The "Welsh girl looks quite interesting by moonlight — but 
then this sea-life plays the deuce with a woman's embellish- 
ments — it is a perfect disenchanter, taking the rose from 
her cheek — smoothness from her hair, and shape from her 
person ; this element was only intended for Naiads and 
Mermaids ; we were interrupted here in order to go on 
deck and see a vessel under full sail by moonlight. She 
passed within forty yards of us, and looked beautiful — we 
hailed, and were answered in French ; so we are not alone 
upon the boundless sea ! It is really a pleasant feeling to 
come so near humanity again — to mark one spot in this 
wide solitude where the eye may rest with pleasure, and 
the heart be consoled with the thought of companionship. 



20 . WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

God speed them ! She came and faded into darkness like 
an apparition. We thought of the Water Witch and her 
sea-green ladj. There is a romance about the ocean in^ 
spite of its vicious qualities — but it shows better from the 
shore. To-morrow night we expect to make Cape Clear. 
I shall hail it with rapture. 

Oct. 23, llj o'clocJc, P. M. — After one hour of tolera- 
ble anxiety, the watch has just screamed out, "Light 
ahead." It is Cape Clear at last. We shall now turn in 
and "sleep awaj the morning," as King Dick says. 



The first land we had the pleasure to behold was the 
Salters, two hills on the Coast of Ireland. "Barring ac- 
cidents," we shall dine to-morrow in Liverpool— joyful 
thought. The pilot has just stepped aboard, and seems 
quite a lion among the steerage passengers. One would 
suppose he left the thermometer at zero, and it would be 
difficult to tell where his body is among the number of 
coats in which it is embalmed. These men are, no doubt, 
capital fellows in a blow, but they are rather rough. The 
day has been delightful, and the channel not very wicked. 
In a squall or two last evening, one struck us aback while 
we were at tea. There was a terrible rumpus on deck — 
the captain rushed up, screaming. " Hard up" — " Hard 
ahelm." The " old lady," who was seated opposite to me, 
scarcely heard the row before she gave a spasmodic groan, 
and seized hold of a leg of mutton on the table, doubtless 
thinking it a life preserver. We left her to the aid of salts 
and the tender mercies of the stewardess, and went on 
deck ; here it was pitch dark, and the first step we fell over 
a coil of rope, thereby hitting our friend " Sails" in the 
abdominal region, for which favor we received a heavy 
curse, with the intelligence that there was plenty of wind 



ARRIVAL IN LONDON. 21 

without taking his. Finding ourselves in the way, we 
again descended and comforted the " old lady" with the 
assurance that we had only been run into by another ship, 
but were not sinking as yet. This produced another 
spasm, which the stewardess could scarcely relieve for 
laughter. These squalls are rather a pleasant amusement. 
They operate so quickly among the studding sails. The 
Coast of Ireland has a very unprepossessing appearance. 
We should dislike a close acquaintance with certain parts of 
it — that of Wales looks less dangerous — Holyhead is very 
striking — the Welsh mountains can be distinctly seen in 
the distance, dotted here and there with snow. Snowden 
looks magnificent, looming high into the clouds. We are 
itching to set our foot on land, and to feed once more in 
luxuriant repose and certainty, without being obliged to 
hold on to the table with the desperate energy of a 
famished man. Good night to Holyhead. 



LEAF III. 

MoRLEY^s Hotel, London. 
Here we are in London, and our money is flowing like 
water from the rock ; every thing must be paid for here 
in a quadruple ratio. This is the land of lords and mer- 
chant princes, and the evidences of their wealth are appa- 
rent wherever you turn your eyes. Their docks are filled 
to overflowing with shipping — their ware-houses with goods 
— their fashionable squares are lined with private palaces 
— their drives crowded with equipages — on every side are 
monuments and terraces, club-houses and barracks. Their 
nobles are proud and handsome, their shop-keepers silky 



22 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

and contemptible — their servants vultures and their police 
gentlemen. The government is a government " jj>€r se' — 
a visible ubiquity, a tangible torture ; it lives in the earth, 
the air, the fire, the water. Agents in black, blue, white, 
and gray, like the weird sisters, mingle in every operation 
of life. Guards on horseback, sentinels on foot, mar the 
avenues, and prop the scaffolding of accidental greatness. 
" The pomp and circumstance of war" is here an every 
day exhibition, and one feels more like a spectator at a 
theatre than a wanderer in the "great metropolis." 

Hyde Park was alive to-day, thronged with every order, 
for the weather is particularly fine for London. We stood 
by the main entrance, near Apsley House, looking on the 
serried files that poured through the archway ; the Duke 
of Wellington had just received the Archduke Michael of 
Russia, and the carriages were in waiting. We saw the 
Iron Duke for a moment, as he accompanied his distin- 
guished guest to the door. He is somewhat bent with 
age, but that identical nose whereon he wished " to hook 
the world," and which figures so conspicuously in every 
portrait, looked like an old acquaintance, and we could not 
help imagining that we had seen the Duke before. He is 
the man of the age, and we were delighted to get a glimpse 
of him. Apsley House stands just by one of the entrances 
to Hyde Park ; from its front windows you see the tri- 
umphal arch crowned by the equestrian statue of Welling- 
ton, and from the rear windows a statue of Achilles, erected 
to him by the ladies. It is a miserable performance, made 
from some cannon taken in the peninsular war. — The house 
is partly barricaded with iron railing and wood work as 
a defence against another mob. The Duke has more than 
once touched the indignation point, and thinks, perhaps, 
he may have to stand another storm before Westminster 
Abbey receives his ashes. It is time for the hero of 



THE PARKS OF LONDON. 23 

Waterloo to die. He belongs to tlie past, and the corn- 
man der-in-cliief of the present must be steam. It is asto- 
nishing to see what a number of children and female 
pedestrians frequent these parks ; many of the latter 
appear to be governesses, and it is rather amusing to over- 
hear their conversation — it is a mixture of bombastic ele- 
gance and English brag. There is no foolish prohibition 
with regard to the grass, and people are allowed to pass 
over it when they please. In most of them are artificial 
lakes, filled with aquatic birds, the borders of which are 
laid out and planted with every species of hardy flower 
and tree : to these the names are attached, so that one is 
never puzzled to death to discover the species, or compelled 
to tell a scientific lie to the uninitiated. Some very pretty 
specimens of cottage architecture are also scattered about, 
giving quite a natural appearance to the arrangement. 
We like to ramble through these Parks in fine weather : 
they afi'ord an excellent opportunity for judging the extent 
of English wealth, in the shape of equipages, and of Eng- 
lish beauty in the shape of petticoats. The women are 
decidedly the healthiest looking creatures in the world. 
As to their beauty, that is a matter of taste, and we will 
not attempt to decide it. All nations present some admi- 
rable specimens, and were another Paris summoned to 
decide the merits, bribery would again carry the day. If 
richness of color and brilliancy of complexion are sought 
for, here is the place to find them. It is really delicious 
to look at an English neck and bosom — such perfect full- 
ness 1 such exquisite smoothness ! such delicate exposure ! 
and than that aristocratic grace and calmness of look, that 
quiet self-assurance, that blending of the intellectual with 
the sensual in the coldness of the polished brow and the 
warmth of the heaving bosom, all conspire to make an 
extremely tantalizing picture ; but then we miss the variety 



24 WILD OATS, SOWN -ABROAD. 

of style so apparent in America ; there is great sameness 
in English beauty, they all appear to come from the same 
mould. The Jerseys, the Seymours, the Gowers, have all 
the national brand ; they all pass through the same physi- 
cal changes, too : as girls, large-boned and healthy ; aa 
grown-up women, bright, beautiful, and voluptuous ; and 
as old dowagers, fat, coarse, and ugly, like a pot of ale 
tipped with froth. Lowther Bazaar and Kegent Street in 
the evening present as beautiful an array of frailty as ever 
tempted saint or anchorite — and it is from this order of 
beings that you can best judge of the beauty of a nation — 
especially in Europe, where it is a remarkable commodity 
— and always on the search for a bidder either in the 
matrimonial or the speculative way — but it would be 
unjust in a comparison to the beauty of the general mass 
in America to take the beauty of these creatures as the 
criterion and proof of the beauty of the masses in England 
— for they are all culled plants, and many of them no 
doubt owe their position to this fated gift alone. 



Went to Drury Lane Theatre last night, to see Carlo tti 
Grisi in the Peri. She dances with great grace, and a 
certain joyful abandonment of manner which is quite cap- 
tivating; but she is neither pretty in form or feature, 
being small and thin, with nothing but a very " inviting 
eye" to fill up the picture. This she uses admirably, look- 
ing as wicked and passionate as the most faded blaze 
could desire. We paused a moment in the crush room, 
as we were passing out, to think of the Kegent, Byron, 
Brummell, the Marquis of Lome, and many of those 
"sad dogs" whose empire now has passed away. How 
often had they gone through that room with the flash of 
wit upon their lips and a host of worshippers in their 
train ! — and Brinsley Sheridan too ! and Monk Lewis and 



poet's corner, WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 25 

the stately Ponsonby ! — where are they now ? and where 
their successors ? Recall the night when Byron's Address 
was spoken from these boards — re-assemble the beauty of 
the Jerseys — the frailty of the Lambs — the coarse wit of 
Harriet Wilson^ — summon from their shrouds the regal 
Betterton, the courtly Young ; and he whose brow became 
the princely Hamlet — "pshaw!" what a miserable age we 
move in ! 

I will go to-morrow to see Harriet Wilson— they say 
she lives in one of the suburbs of London supported by 
the generous portion of her former admirers and slaves — 
she never could have been more fascinating than the 
present Mistress of the Marquis of Hertford — quite an 
Aspasia. 



I have just finished a day in Westminster Abbey — the 
sepulchre for England's great — her undying ones ! whose 
least memorial is their ashes. I did not feel very enthu- 
siastic. There are too many great names crowded together 
— it distracts you, and there is little honor where so many 
Pretenders find room ; the solitary grave of a Smollet or a 
Keats is more apt to impress you with the vanity of 
earthly fame, and to awaken those solemn reflections 
which lead to a lofty and nobler view of man's destiny. 
Westminster Abbey is more fitted to give the poet food for 
his dreams than the statesman remorse for his ambition, or 
the historian an antidote for his prejudice. The epitaph 
of royalty is but a poor record of truth ; the churchman's 
adulation a still poorer proof of goodness ; and the poet's 
monument a miserable consolation for a life-time of neglect. 
Still it is something for Genius to be able to secure a 
grave by the side of Royalty — it goes to prove the equality 
of the Tomb ; besides, it is pleasant to see old rivals sleep 
so quietly side by side — to read over the names of Eliza- 

3 



26 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

beth and Mary, Pitt and Fox, as though they were " twin 
cherries;" to wonder how those inimitable children of song 
manage matters in "Poet's Corner;" whether Johnson 
finds a folio to hurl at his argumentative neighbor, or 
Goldsmith turns his unspeculative eye. upon spiritualized 
Garrick. The tombs in Westminster Abbey are the poetry 
of death. The ruling stars of faction have sunk into the 
same embrace. The hostile orbs of beauty, poesy and 
sovereignty have closed their fiery orbits in one common 
centre ; would the ashes of Byron disturb this heavenly 
repose ? — would it startle the Regent from his cofiined 
propriety, or taint the orthodox atmosphere of Southey? 
Yet here sleeps Warren Hastings, near the scene of his 
political apotheosis, and there lie Burke and Sheridan, the 
consumers of his glory — the sensual and the immoral, the 
vicious and the vain, the tyrant, the usurper, and the 
murderer, find place ; but there is no room for Byron ! 
If Westminster Abbey has been turned from its high 
purpose — if its sacred aisles and holy altar, built to teach 
men how to die, have been converted into a mere receptacle 
for England's "honored dead," then should room be found 
^ for all of them, no matter what their religious or political 
tastes might have been. The chapel of the Seventh Henry 
is exceedingly solemn and beautiful ; there is a mystic 
power, a voiceless religion in its vacant stalls and knightly 
banners, filled with the dust of centuries — untouched by 
the breeze of Heaven. Time stands like a stoled Priest, at 
its altar, and the beings of the mind move noiseless o'er its 
marble floor. The chapel of Edward the Confessor stands 
immediately behind the altar of the church, and is ap- 
proached by a flight of steps. Around you lay the marble 
efligies of the Henrys — with here and there some kneeling 
form, with stony hands stretched in eternal supplication, — 
rude figures, with trailing garments, bend life-like in the 



England's monuments. 27 

*'dlm, discolored light" over the stiff and outstretched 
bodj of some armed warrior — and pale statues look 
coldly from their pedestals upon your reverential 
homage. You stalk like aji earthly intruder amid the 
devotion of unimpassioned penitents, whose vow is 
silence, and whose occupation prayer. I could have 
murdered my guide without the slightest remorse. 
He persecuted me almost to death with his historical 
research and self-satisfied opinion. Cane in hand, he 
tapped upon every tomb, and glided on in a sort of oily 
slang upon the merits of its style and the virtues of its 
occupant. I thanked God fervently when he told me the 
rest of the Abbey could be enjoyed without his aid. He 
seemed very anxious to show me the Coronation Chairs, to 
have me know that Victoria had retired into that small 
chapel during her coronation, overcome with emotion — 
or something else, perhaps. These English guides are 
more annoying than a host of Orleans musquitoes. I 
would rather have a tiger, fresh from the jungles, by my 
side. The woman who shows the regalia in the Tower is 
a perfect emetic. Nothing could induce me to go there 
before breakfast. The architectural beauty of the monu- 
ments in the Abbey, as far as I could judge, is not of the 
highest order. That of Lady Nightingale is more odd 
than impressive — rather a work of art than of genius. 
The tomb of Andre is plain, but not the less interesting. 
There is also one to Wolfe. But I prefer More's Monu- 
ment, in St. Paul's, to all others. The sculptor has taken 
the poet's lines on his burial for his guide, and has repre- 
sented him just being lowered into the grave "with his 
martial cloak around him." The execution is equal to the 
design. London abounds in monuments, but mostly to 
her wan-iors. They have a fine one to Nelson in Trafalgar 
Square. Verily the children of glory have their reward ! 



28 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

He will almost stand high enough up there to see the grave 
of Emma on the Gallic shore : not a very desirable pros- 
pect. 



LEAF IV. 

Morlet's Hotel, London". 
I SET out this morning to take a glimpse of the palaces. 
The Queen's Band was playing in front of the Bucking- 
ham. It is an ordinary looking affair, and disappointed me 
greatly. St. James and Whitehall are the most interest- 
ing. I asked in vain to be shown the window through 
which Charles was led to execution. On my route I passed 
Almack's, an old, dreary-looking building, and which one 
would suppose would scarcely be selected by the aristo- 
cratic world as the theatre of their glory. Alas, for 
Almack's ! Its Brummelism is over — its exclusive great- 
ness has departed — the rose-leaves of fashion bloom no 
longer within its degenerate walls — the petted darlings of 
Bond street look superciliously upon its "barren sceptre," 
and from the nostrils of ancestral pride breathes " beauti- 
ful disdain" at mention of its once despotic sway. So 
fades the empire of folly : 

" Farewell the plumed head, and snowy pearls 
That make complexion glorious ! 0, farewell ! 
Farewell the coronet and glittering star — 
The spirit-stirring voice — the princely smile — 
The royal Garter — and all quality, 
Pomp, glare, and haughtiness of rampant Fashion I 
And 0, exquisite mortals, whose long hair 
The Nemoan lion's mane doth counterfeit, 
Farewell ! — the reign of Almack's, is no more !" 



MADAME TAUSSAUD'S WAX WORKS. 29 



The next generation will sneer, perhaps, at Eton Square 
and the West End, while " some other haughty star will 
gain the ascendant. There opposite to my window, stands 
Northumberland House, the home of "Percy's high-born 
race" — dark, time-worn — with its grated portals and 
heraldric lion — emblems of the baronial age that gave 
it birth. 

Turn into St. James' Park, down Carlton Terrace, and 
Marlboro' House greets you, where Annie's despot wove 
her web. Still farther, and the palace of the Duke of 
Sutherland is before you. Sweep along Pall Mall, and up 
Regent street : club-house after club-house, with more 
than regal splendor, crowds your way. This is the London 
focus — the heart of dissipation. In this circle revolve the 
favored children of fortune. Here is Crockford's with its 
outward gentility and inward hell. There is Brooke's — 
White's — Boodle's, the haunts of political hacks — the 
paradise of titled bloods. How many cross these thresh- 
holds whose drawing-room is a garret, and whose revenue 
is thin air and subtle brains ; their home, their character, 
their means, their life is the club-house. Stroll by these 
civic barracks at dusk, and throngs of frailty of every 
grade will cross your path — frail and beautiful as dreams. 
Such eyes ! complexion ! hair ! as I have seen offered for 
sale in Regent street ! Talk of the Turks and their slave 
market ! 



Madame Taussaud's wax works ! I thought of Mrs. 
Jarvey and Little Nell. Yet they were well worth a visit. 
Night is the best time. Like ball-room beauties, the 
''garish light of day" reveals too much. Here are 
grouped the distinguished characters of their day, from 
Napoleon to the Irish agitator. The Congress of Vienna 
is here in continued session ; and the theatrical display of 

3* 



so WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

George the Fourth, in his genuine coronation robes, is 
perpetuated for the benefit of posterity. Here stands the 
over-dressed Voltaire and the mantled Bjron — the revolu- 
tionary Washington and the " Iron Duke." Here is 
Napoleon in his identical grey frock, the camp-bed he 
died in — yea, the very shirt stained with his precious 
blood. Here is the table on which he signed his abdica- 
tion ; and from the end of that string hangs a tooth which 
once masticated his provender. You may sit in the car- 
riage which the enraged Prussians seized near the field 
of Waterloo, but w^hich the hero of an hundred fights had 
already abdicated; and were it not for a glass case, you 
might even blow your nose upon the same " rag" or take 
snuff from the same box that titilated the proboscis of the 
Imperial demi-god ! Who can analyze the sneeze that 
might follow such a desecration ! 

Walk up stairs into the chamber of horror. There is 
Murat just murdered in his bath by Charlotte Corday. 
The "friend of the people" had a villainous face. There 
is Robespierre, taken immediately after death. It is a 
placid and merciful-looking physiognomy, but the eye 
protrudes too much. There is also his brother, and St. 
Just, the lion-heart of the reign of terror. The little 
wretch Fieschi looks life-like, standing by his infernal 
machine. There, too, is an elegant suflSciency of scoun- 
drels in that corner — the very elite of murderers — the 
*'best of cut- throats" — the criminal aristocracy of the age, 
headed by that arch fiend, Burke. I have never seen more 
perfect paguerreotypcs of crime. Violence lurks in every 
wrinkle of the mouth, and cold blooded cruelty sleep coiled 
in every eye. I almost anticipated being stabbed in the 
back or Burked, as I descended the steps, by these waxen 
representatives of hell. It is no doubt a weakness, but 
nevertheless a truth, that most people have a passion for 



THE "beauties" OF HAMPTON COURT. 31 

wax works. There is something ghostly — something that 
savors of the "spirit land" — in the white brow, the quiet, 
unspeculative gaze of these digital creations. A child 
will admire and touch a statue, but it dreads a wax 
figure. Solve me the enigma of that, sphynx ! 

The railroad carries you within half an hour's walk of 
Hampton Court Palace. This is, indeed, a palace ; and 
for the first time I felt disposed to envy kings and queens. 
The grounds are beautiful, and whether it was the fall of 
the leaf or a dream of the days of Woolsey, I know not, but 
felt as if it would be a near approach to bliss to live and 
die at Hampton Court. Charles the Second gave this 
palace to the Duke of Albemarle, but it was afterwards 
redeemed and occupied by him. The Cartoons of Raifaell 
and Lely's Beauties are the principal attractions of the 
establishment. The beauties have a strong family resem- 
blance — the same soft, sleepy eye — the same complexion 
— the same voluptuous, or rather licentious undress — the 
same studied abandon of appearance. The infamous 
Duchess of Cleaveland is decidedly the handsomest of the 
party. Miss Brooks, afterward Lady Denham, is a good 
specimen of the English beauty ; and the Duchess of Rich- 
mond (La Belle Stewart,) just looks vicious enough to 
show her limbs in the manner Grammont has recorded. 
The " lovely Jennings" is not among the number, and " La 
Belle Hamilton" disappointed me greatly ; but it is difficult 
to form a correct idea of the beauty of these Courtly rakes 
from the portraits of Lely. There is too much of the 
languishing style of the painter, and the artificial 
wantonness of the age introduced into all of them — no 
variety of expression — none of the mental characteristics, 
which should distinguish the spiritual Whitmore from 
the silly and insipid Stewart. They are all equally beau- 
tiful, equally nude, and equally characterless. Lely might 



32 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

well be an artist's envy, but should never become an 
artist's model. Sir Godfrey Kneller, with all his vanity 
and conceit, and with all the flattery of the age, was but 
an indiiFerent painter; and it is an enigma to me how 
George the Third could select such a portrait painter as 
West, when he could command a Joshua Reynolds. 

It requires two days for a satisfactory examination of 
Hampton Court. There are some twelve hundred pictures, 
and many of them of great historical interest. It is the 
only spot which I have yet visited where fees are not 
exacted, or where one may stroll undisturbed by the 
magpie-tongue of a guide — it is a blessing for which 
we should be devoutly thankful. 



I spent last night in studying human nature, and am 
repaid this morning with a slight touch of rheumatism, 
and a delicious headache — verily retributive justice strides 
close upon the heels of crime — I dined with Captain 

H , and as he insisted upon showing me the " Flash 

cribs" of the Metropolis I could do no less than place 
myself at his disposal — to say that I had any disinclination 
to the amusement would be a falsehood — I lay no claim to 
that morality that covered Joseph as with a shield, and 
though I should disdain to set a trap for any straggling 
Mrs. Potiphar, I should still feel myself justified in reliev- 
ing the sufferings of an amiable woman, who, believed 
herself the victim of a "prostrating passion." Virtue in 
others is my idol. I look upon it as the snowy garment 
with which Heaven has clothed its chosen ones — the stars 
themselves look not so beautiful in their pure glory as the 
heart of man or woman wrapped in the fleecy folds of 
ohrystal virtue — but unfortunately for me I could never 
procure this species of clothing, and in its absence I have 
steeled myself in wisdom's armour — it answers the purpose 



LOVE AND PHILOSOPHY. 33 

tolerably well and I sometimes congratulate myself, with 
reasonable degree of truth, upon my irreproachable conduct 
— but alas ! for wisdom's armour ! I too often find myself, 
after some oblivious era of darkness, looking upon it as 
the soldier looks upon his "cloven shield" — fragile and 
worthless and scarcely fit to bear a Spartan's body from 
the inglorious field. How I envy that man whose life is 
spent in one continued homage at the shrine of virtue ! 
Here I was interrupted by a visitor, and for the soul of me 
I cannot renew the broken thread of my panegyric on 
virtue — no matter, it needs no eulogist. It is the holy 
wa,ter of the heart, and sanctifies all it weeps upon — quite 
a pretty thought that — I should have said conceit — as I 

was about to observe I went with Captain H first to 

Crockford's where I saw nothing but a fine saloon — some 
recherche looking exquisites — one or two hazard tables — a 
" rouge et noir" and no players — this was rather stupid — 
so we turned about to take an observation or two in the 
crowded circles of Drury Lane Theatre. The Captain 
seemed perfectly at home among these semi-Paphian bowers, 
and we were soon surrounded by a host of Cyprians 
lovelier than the Lamias of old — I could not but be struck 
with the extreme youth and beauty of many of these 
miserable creatures — the crushed rose leaves scattered 
from the vases of opulence and satiety to feed the passions 
and to lure the judgment of the crowd ; such a state of 
tilings, to say the least of it, is distressing — but where is 
the remedy ? Civilization brings luxury — luxury developes 
desire — desire seeks beauty — beauty is in demand — beauty 
is poor — beauty is vain, and beauty is victimized. Voila 
tout ! Could Moses — could Lycurgus — could Solon — quench 
the fire ? Preach virtue from the tops of Pisgah to the 
vale of Tempe — ^let its indignation roll like the surge over 
Italy, and through the Alpine passes to the very doors of 




34 WILD OATS, SOWX ABROAD. 



Drury Lane — still vice will have her palace, and float 
boujantly 'mid the wrath of the tempest. Look at the 
eyes of that child of sin — see the dove-like expression of 
her glance — the pure white of her little fingers as she 
parts the long hair from her brow where purity itself seems 
throned — then mark that seductive little foot nestled on 
its blue cushion like a Halcyon on the water, and that 
sweet, young breast, whose gentle movement swells to 
rapture at your dreamy gaze, and those light lips so 
ripe, so warm, so full of bliss yet unrevealed ; and 
tell me where mischief stops when such an agent holds 
the torch : and yet I had scarcely thrown myself into 
a seat in the Foyer of the second tier before just such 
a creature assailed me. Forgive me austere virtue ! if 
resolution faltered and morality grew pale. True I had a 
cold constitution and magnificent stoicism to support me ; 
but the crisis was dreadful. Frown not. Oh ! shades 
of the untempted ! so darkly upon your weak brother. I 
tell you I did resist ! I cried avaunt ! to the tempter. I 
summoned a spirit from memory's halls, wdiose pale cheek 
smote me to the soul. But like the phantom of Astarte it 
W'ould not speak to me, and here by my very side was flesh 
and blood with the voice of Eve's charmer poisoning my 
senses, and sweetening persuasion with the incense of 
loveliness and passion. Oh, it is horrible for wicked 
woman to place her little hand upon your shoulder, 
and half whisper in your ear, while the warm breath 
of her sweet mouth is creeping through your hair like 
amorous Diana's stole on the slumber of Endymion. I 
turned away from the precipice. I took another seat, 
but the little wretch had already become a part of 
sight. She was again by my side. *'My dear child," 
said I in the most parental tone, " go away ! all this 
is ;' love's labor lost." Why don't you try some other 



"loyes labor lost." 35 

person. Surely such a face as yours can always com- 
mand a customer." She hesitated a moment, and then 
answered good humouredly, " Your manner, sir, is cer- 
tainly rude, and your compliment to my face indifferently 
flattering. Besides you are slightly mistaken. I am not in 
search of a customer, and if I were, you are not my style 
of man. Your "whole income would not buy my gloves." 

"Pray where did you learn that fact?" 

" Your friend told me you were here with him the last 
night the Grisi danced the Peri. I was with S. in the 
opposite box, and in a capricious moment took a fancy 
for your melancholy face. I felt inclined to bleed you, 
and questioned W. yesterday about the extent of your 
banker's account." 

" I feel much indebted for your kind intentions. But 
go on." 

" He told me you were an American, but strange 
to say neither a millionaire nor a flat." 

"Are we Americans generally ranked under one of 
these two divisions?" 

" Frequently ; at least those who visit Piccadilly 
saloon." 

" By the way, do you see many Americans there ?" 

" No ; it is too expensive for the few and too select for 
the many. Now and then some of your aspiring citizen 
princes drop in and out-Herod Herod in extravagance. 
Are you Americans so lavish with your money at home ?" 

"Why yes, I think it the national weakness of the 
young. But since you have made known your flattering 
intentions you will excuse me if I decline submitting to 
the operation. I hate a mercenary woman as I do the 
devil." 

"My dear sir," says she calmly, "don't flurry your- 
self. Who aeked you for money? I told you I liked 



36 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

your face, and if j^ou cannot take a delicate hint, you must 
be the essence of stupidity." 

My dear Madam, there breathes not a human being 
under the sun whose sensibilities are so keenly alive to 
the fascination of a lady's challenge, or whose research 
has more fully investigated the subtleties of a lady's hint. 
I can ring you all the changes from the hint equivocal 
of the coquettish eye down to the hint direct of the wanton 
organ of speech. I am a virtuous man." She smiled. 
"You may smile — I am, but I dislike being considered an 

ungallant one. I am now going with Captain H to the 

"shades," but will be at Goodred's saloon by twelve. Let 
the carriage set you down there after the Theatre, and 
you can amuse yourself by ordering supper for three. We 
will join you at twelve precisely." 

"But why bring Captain H with you? Why not a 

pleasant ' tete a tete.' Three are such poor company." 

" The best reason in the world. I have never been at 
Goodred's, and must go under his auspices. Besides he 
tells me the Marquis' Mistress will be there, and I am' 
to be introduced in form. So you may as well order supper 
for four, and we will persuade her to join us. So you know 
her?" 

" Oh yes ! intimately." 

" But remember child, I only sup with you. Tempt me 
no further." 

" No I" says she. " I suspect the Marquis' Mistress is to 
do the rest of the tempting." 

"No! by the Delphian oracle I swear if I am to fall, 
you shall be the serpent, and your bower the Eden of my 
bliss." 

" I imagined you were poetical" she replied, " but I had 
no idea you would compare me to a ^ snake in the grass' 
after my open avowal. However, we will sup together 
— and then — and then — and then." 



A PEEP AT THE SHADES. 37 



LEAF V. 

«'THE SHADES." 

Here Capt. H joined me. We left the theatre^ 

and on our way to the '' Shades," he told me I had made 
a conquest of a very capricious and extravagant creature, 

who had nearly ruined Capt. A , and was now in the 

keeping of some very young and wealthy Hungarian. I 
felt somewhat alarmed at the probable sum-total which her 
aristocratic taste might prepare for me in the shape of a 
supper-bill ; but the edict was irrevocable, and the smoke 
and noise of the " Shades" soon dissipated the idea. It 
was a terrible hole. We had to dive down a miserable, 
narrow flight of steps, and it was some moments before I 
could discover, through the dense smoke, that we had 
entered a long, low-ceilinged room, full of every descrip- 
tion of character — thieves, cabmen, and flash mechanics, 
all feeding like open valves the dark cloud that enveloped 
them. I could scarcely breathe for the smoke, and in my 
haste to reach the bar, I stumbled over the outstretched 

legs of one of the vagabonds, who " d d my eyes" 

with an energy almost ecstatic. 

We called for some " Negus," and while the Captain 
entertained Jem Rice, the landlord, I took a look at the 
details of the establishment. It was the very Paradise of 
low-life — just the haunt where Vice is least adorned. 
Here was food enough for an hundred such heroes as 
modern novelists delight to draw ; but the fancy nobility 
of crime which is portrayed in a Shephard or a Cliff"ord, 
eould scarcely survive the test of a visit to the Shades. 
There is nothing of the grand or the sublime in its une- 

4 



38 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

quivocal, unmitigated rascality. Apart from the besti- 
ality of the place, there was one or two touches of the 
ludicrous which might have furnished a Van Mieren with 
many a subject for his pencil. There was one group in 
particular especially rich. They were deeply engaged in 
discussing the merits of Bendigo, the prize-fighter. It 
was almost impossible to recognize the language they used, 
and it would have puzzled Mezzofanti himself to pronounce 
upon it. One short-legged little individual had just put a 
question, which seemed a poser to his long antagonist, and 
was looking up at him with his finger on his nose, in a 
sort of " answer-me-that" air, exquisitely perplexing. His 
long adversary was endeavoring to evade the question by 
sinking his chin into the depths of a very high and very 
flash cravat. The whole party seemed greatly interested 
in the resolving of that single point. It must have been 
the very hinge of the controversy. The little-legged man, 
perfectly aware of his interrogative strength, threw off 
another Tusculum question, with an energy that fairly 
raised him from the floor, and with a convulsive thrust of 
the left hand into his waistcoat pocket, awaited the result. 
The excitement was now intense — every pipe hung lip- 
suspended, but unexhaled — one general paralysis of the 
imbibing functions; even the petticoat portion of the group 
ceased to coquette with their ^' Negus." The long gentle- 
man with the interminable cravat eyed the opposition as a 
Matadore does a bull, and said, in a rather subdued tone, 
*' Damn me, if he did !" 

"What!" cries the small man, frantically, "you make 
out Ward a liar ?" 

" Most distinctly," was the quiet reply. 

This announcement acted like a galvanic battery — arms, 
legs, and hats struck out with nervous fervor. The " im- 
palpable air" grew thick with wandering pipe stems and 



THE MODERN " ASPASIA." " 39 

winged tumblers. Jem R-ice shouted like a Bacchanal pos- 
sessed, and, decanter in hand, floored the nearest combat- 
ant with an impulse that sprinkled the baptismal liquor in 
every direction. The Captain and myself threaded our way 
through the different discords with the speed of Love, and 
soon found ourselves once more in the open air. I declined 
visiting any more of these haunts, so we took our course 
direct for " Goodred's." It was some minutes before 
twelve when we entered, but the party had already arrived 
and were cozily chatting together in one corner of the 
saloon — I had once before seen this famous mistress of 
H's — but in a bad light, and under the influence of a pet 
— she was a clergyman's daughter — had received an excel- 
lent education, and is considered among the most accom- 
plished courtezans of the season. She is a blonde, with a 
very warm eye, and a certain sincerity of manner very 
attractive — the shape of her head is superb, and her feet 
are like a fairy's — but her chief charm is a laugh whose 
gaiety would bring a smile upon the lips of Niobe herself, 
and throw sunlight over the deepest shade of grief — she 
enslaved me with a look, a voice whose fascination soothed 
the ear as does the sound of " many waters." I found 
myself gliding like a launched ship — smoothly — softly — 
sweetly, into the Syren's power, and my virtuous resolu- 
tions stood like weeping Ariadnes on the shore ! — truly all 
is vanity and presumption — I had placed myself between 
the dove-eyed devotee of Pleasure, and the rosy Hebe of 
Mirth — I had thrown the softest metal into contact with 
the " compound blow-pipe," and was then amazed that it 
should melt. I had already consumed eight glasses of 
" Negus" — I was now upon my second bottle of Sherry, 
and all creation had become one reservoir of Love — my 
humanity had expanded itself into an ocean of good feei- 
ng, and I could have solicited martyrdom in support of 



40 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

social freedom — " Goodred's Saloon" had become the " Por- 
tico" of another Athens, and I listened to the silvery voice 
of the Enchantress, until mj bewildered senses exclaimed, 
*' Yes — this is indeed Philosophy !" "Philosophy!" cries 
the Blonde — '^ It is more than Philosophy — it is rapture 1 
you love and are adored ! you enjoy and are satiated ! 
you take the wings of the morning and fly with new de- 
sires to new objects — you roll on the wheels of sentiment 
over the pathway of life, and take up or drop a passenger 
as love or caprice dictates" — 

"Not forgetting by the way to crush a host of matri- 
monial rovers, as Tarquinia did her father under your 
chariots" — 

" You say true — it is our greatest triumph — one good 
husband chained to our car outvalues the spoil of whole 
provinces — I do so love to ride by Berkeley square, and 
show my jewelled fingers !" 

" Does Lady H live in Berkeley Square ?" 

"Yes — in the season — I can never forgive that Harriet 

Wilson for sparing Lady F ; she was a little fool^- 

she might now have been a Marchioness, instead of living 
a pensioner on Argyle and the rest of them. The Ville- 
bois played her cards better, and is Lady Langly. How 
long do you intend to stay in Paris ?" 
" Only while the novelty lasts — " 
" Of course you will keep a French mistress — " 
"No," says I, "that is a superfluity beyond my 
means — " 

" But I am told in Paris it is not a superfluity but a 
necessity — " 

" The mistress is doubtless in every place a necessity, 
but the keeping belongs to the number of those luxuries we 
prefer seeing our friends indulge in — besides coin destroys 
confidence and assassinates sentiment." 



NOBLE PLEA FOR MATRIMONY. 41 

" Shame upon you ! you love the plant, yet will not 
water it !" 

"Excuse me, my dear, your conclusion is incorrect — I 
have an antipathy to all purchases of tenderness, and 
should I for mere safety sake consent to a salaried idol, I 
should surround her abode with man-traps, and every 
species of nocturnal peril ; I should then crawl upon my 
hands and knees about these dangerous grounds, and 
fondly try and persuade myself into the sweet deception 
that I was approaching another man's preserves — without 
this precaution I should be miserably discontented with the 
interview." 

" What an absurd idea ! You only like a woman then 
in proportion to the difficulty of approach — why not ima- 
gine your mistress a Paixhan gun at once ! You men 
are all traitors at best — you pursue a woman with the 
impetuosity of a cataract, and when you have dragged her 
over the fall, you leave her to the eddies, and glide calmly 
on your course in search of some other piece of feminine 
weakness ; and yet the sole difference between us consists 
in you taking the head and we the heart for a guide. If 
nature would but make a woman's heart and head accord, 
you fortunate unmarried devils would soon be starved into 
capitulating — as it is we are divided and conquered — the 
head makes a short struggle, to win the heart into the 
confederacy of reason — but the little fluttering, wilful 
thing goes right over to the enemy, and is then the first to 
droop and faint away under the disgrace of its own defeat." 

"But," says I, "you have your revenge in ruining the 
health and the resources of your arch-fiend ! and then there 
is the gratification of your vanity and your indolence !" 

*' Poor recompense, that, for the loss of affection ! the 
lot of a mistress would be happy enough if she could 
retain her hold upon her lover. That is the beauty of 

4* 



42 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

matrimony ; the law effects what woman cannot — converts 
the lover into the husband — with us when passion dies — 
all dies, and we stand like the survivors of plague- 
stricken cities, amid ruin and hospitals." — There was a 
slight sinking of the voice as the blue eyed creature 
finished the last sentence, and I looked upon her beautiful 
face with the half intoxicated worship of sincerity — there 
must have been something very adoring in my gaze, for 
she laughed outright, and said, " No, no, you cannot cheat 
me — that look might have done its work some three 
years ago — but now I am a very Phoenix — I can bear the 
furnace of love's ardor, without scorching one feather of 
the wing of feeling. I don't take the slighest interest in 
you — you might pay your court for months, and though 
you might prove yourself the very jewel of good fellows, I 
could 'whistle you off' with the same indifference I pour 
this water in this wine." 

" Yes, and I should probably be quite as diluted as that 
identical liquor by that time — but seriously, you don't 
mean to say that I should sue all this time in vain ! I am 
not prepared to find a Lucretia in a being so full of kind 
impulses as yourself — ^you would yield on the same prin- 
ciple a French woman does — not on your own account, 
but out of pity to me." She looked at me with a certain 
degree of fictitious sterness which became her face about 
as much as a scowl would a cherub's, and replied, dryly, 
*' You must be intoxicated." 

"Positively drunk," says Captain H- . 

*'No wonder," chimed in my dove-eyed friend, "he has 
entered upon his third bottle — it is time to think of moving 

— Capt H and myself have exhausted all the scandal 

of the town, while you and sister Nell have been bandying 
sentiment — come on, sir — I desire you for a ' morning 
gallopade' — We will drop the Captain at Morley's, and as 



THE LILY ON THE SHORE. 43 

the Marquis is no doubt feeling very solitary, we will 

hurry Nell to Oxenden's to console him." 

Strange perverseness of human nature ! there was a lily 
on the shore — just there — within reach of my hand ! and 
yet I wanted that other flower, not a whit the prettier, 
floating away out in the stream, and tossed about in the 
current. I looked upon it, and as I looked the hue seemed 
whiter — the cup more swelling — the hidden fragrance more 
delicious ! I closed my eyes, and lay deep sunk in the 
richly cushioned carriage — a moment ! there came the 
phantom of a goodly resolution — yes! — I would get out at 
Morley's — I would be indisposed and virtuous ! but alas ! 
there was a devilish pulpy piece of flesh and blood crushed 
up against my unhappy leg, and the littlest hand in the 
world fell passively in mine — Oh ! this infernal poetry of 
contact] Was it Dove-Eye or the Blonde? I knew not 
— who could tell ? Was it not dark, and was not my 
brain confused ? and my wishes warm, and my resolves 
unsteady ? — Methinks I slept — and yet I do remember me 
of a long, w^arm kiss — a pleasant pressure and a soft 
"good night," and the laughing Blonde disappeared in 
the darkness of some lofty portal — and then came another 
roll of the carriage — another dream of happy lands be- 
neath the tropics — where all was beauty, and the heart 
did waste itself in mere pursuit of joy — and then methinks 
I woke? Yes — I did wake — and there w^as couch and 
ottoman — crimson and blue — the draped glory of oriental 
luxury — I turned, surprised, and lo ! a face glowing with a 
*' languor which was not repose" — but oh ! how beautiful ! 
and Pride whispered to my penitent spirit : — 

" The lif^ht that led astray 
Was light from ileaven." 



London is indeed a fact. There is a frightful reality in 



44: WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

every thing connected with it. You read of strange 
things in books, and wonder if it can be so ; but your won- 
der ceases when you have "done up" London. You are 
confident that every thing can and does happen in this 
grand crucible of humanity ; the hideous and the lovely 
are in daily contact ; and in the darkness of crime, best- 
iality, and starvation, you can detect here and there the 
light of some good action, the result of affection, or a true 
nobility of soul which no external blight can touch. — It is 
the little taper of the charnel-house, lit up by Innocence 
in search of Love. There is an absence of all social feel- 
ing about the English character, which is truly detestable. 
Among their own clan they may be very clever ; but woe 
betide the poor stranger who dares to plant his foot within 
the sacred circle of an Englishman's egotism. His mono- 
syllables chill the atmosphere like an iceberg, and you 
can almost see the wine freeze as it passes his lips. He 
will sit at the next, or even the same table with you, and, 
should you inadvertently pass him a dish, or let fall a 
remark, he will look at you with a sort of idiotic stare, 
and exclaim, " Oh ! ah !" with about the same facility as 
one of Maelzel's semi-human inventions. You may, how- 
ever, console yourself for this anti-social propensity, with 
the fact that an Englishman cannot talk with that desira- 
ble agreeability necessary to a stranger. He has not the 
gift, and when you do take the trouble of inviting an 
acquaintance, and the party finds you can be safely talked 
to without his losing his pocket book or his caste, ten to 
one you will find him a bore, and be glad to step out of his 
English prejudices, again into the negative enjoyment of 
your former solitude. There is an arrogance of opinion 
and national conceit about them which sounds harsh to my 
ear, and an obliviousness with regard to certain historical 
events connected with our progress, which makes me 



ENGLISH MOTHER AND AMERICAN DAUGHTER. 45 

doubt their sanity upon that particular point. That they 
are at present the greatest nation on the earth is indis- 
putable, but to maintain that proud position requires more 
vigor and less confidence than they possess. The next 
war with America will be the test of their stability. If 
they come out of it victorious, they will endure for ever. 
" Nous verrons." 

There never can be any cordial good feeling between 
England and America. The courtesies of the press — the 
flattery of books — and the reciprocal kindness of indivi- 
duals, can be fostered and indulged ; but to bring about a 
general amiability of the two nations, is impossible. There 
is such a bravado spirit and pride of country in both par- 
ties, that they must naturally provoke each other. — They 
may kiss and lip-flatter like two balLroom beauties, but 
they are " too knowing" to over-estimate the value and 
strength of such an attachment. The warmer the kiss, 
the deeper and more enduring the dislike. Interest, prin- 
ciple, and position, drive us into rivalry and hostility, and 
the loftier the flight of our eagle, the deadlier must become 
the monarchical aim of England. The two principles can- 
not breathe the same atmosphere together. They poison 
each other's current, and the strongest constitution has 
the best prospect for the survivorship. 



LEAF VI. 

. Hotel Meurice, Paris. 
What a splendid Blanchisseuse is that! Never was 
dirty linen consigned to fairer hands. If Paris can boast 



46 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

a dozen women as handsome as that washerwoman, I will 
consent to live and die here. What a terrible wash-bill 
I shall have if that creature superintends my laundry ! 
I shall wear white cravats if only to swell the list ; but 
pshaw ! this is all French cunning. Handsome agents are 
the decoys of trade — the commercial syrens of the strange 
voyager. I must open a safety-valve for my sensibilities, 
or I shall be ruined here. I am worse than an Innocent. 
I would throw myself under the first Juggernaut in a fit 
of Idolatry ! — but then I am a little bewildered. I am in 
Paris. " Je la suis." There is the Tuilleries, and every 
thing looks as yet so bizarre. The " bon jour" and the 
" merci" sound so excruciatingly foreign — ^besides, my 
" moustache" has a fair field now\ Don't I remember the 
first eff'ort at college ! — with what maternal fondness I 
coaxed the fibrous attempt to assume a downy attitude ! 
and with what feminine grace and weakness it struggled 
into hair ! — and crouched upon my lip in the shrinking joy 
of infancy ! It was the ugliest child I ever reared ; 
indeed, the only decided character it possessed was ugli- 
ness. The faculty watched its growth in stupified amaze- 
ment — more appalled at the attempt than the deed ; and 
my class-mates put on a shuddering smile as they looked 
upon the ferocious sweetness of its earlier propensities. 
It had not exactly the power of Medusa's '* serpent 
brood," but the sensation it produced was immense ; and 
the moral force exercised by each ^'particular hair" was 
tremendously evident in the lofty carriage of its owner. 
Poor thing ! how surprised it would be to mark the expan- 
sive fullness of its successor ! — yes, I may without vanity 
pronounce my existent , moustache superb ! and I shall let 
it flourish in undying glory until my return to the fetter 
of opinion. Something one must have to love, and as 
I am out of "humor with myself," I will concentrate all 



THE "maid of normandie." 47 

my tenderness upon the physical developement of this 
child of civilization and classic fancy. I wonder how 
many men are better employed ! 

But let me cut my moustache short, and return to 
London, thence to embark, which I did, from London 
Bridge. We were one whole day steaming down that 
winding and filthy Thames, and four mortal hours cross- 
ing over to Boulogne. The channel was somewhat rough, 
and I had a slight touch of an ocean spasm, but I soon 
paralyzed the movement with a shocking drench of raw 
brandy. It was near eleven o'clock at night when we 
landed. I left every thing to the "commissionaire," and 
hastened to devour my first French meal. It was faultless. 
What a change, too, from the dull, saturnine rigidness of 
the English waiter to the talkative, white-aproned " gargon" 
of Normandy ! My long lost identity returned, and I felt 
crisp, pert, and amiable. I mounted to my chamber with 
the spirit of a legatee and the bound of a bayadere ; and 
it was s#me moments before I ascertained that I had 
walked into the darkness of an uncandled apartment. I 
rang for a servant. Presently I heard the sound of a 
wooden shoe come clattering along, and the tall cap, 
prominent hips, and roguish face of a "maid of Nor- 
mandie," made its appearance with napkins and candle. 
She glided into the room with the air of a " thorough- 
bred," and as I scanned the poetry of her motion, I 
soliloquized upon the fate of man and the loveliness of 
woman. She lit the candle, bustled about, and disappeared 
with the same indefinable ease of manner. I soliloquized 
on, and scarcely heard her parting salutation. I do not 
know whether I did ring or not — that is a question which 
in all probability will never be accurately settled. But 
certainly my door was again opened, and the identical 
pair of lips, cap and face appeared. 



48 ' WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

"Did Monsieur ring?" 

"No!" 

"Does Monsieur want any warm water?" 

"No ! my dear !" 

" What does Monsieur want ?" with a strong emphasis 
and a most inviting smile. 

I hesitated. It was a trying scene. My fingers itched 
for a hold upon her waist — for, be it remembered, she was 
the first of an unknown series, and I was dying for an 
essay upon Gallic coquetry ; but the idea of commencing 
it with a mere chambermaid, when a duchess was antici- 
pated, the decision was made, and I dryly replied — 

" Monsieur wants nothing just at present ; but don't 
forget me in the morning." 

" Out!" says Normandie, and each clack of her pretty 
foot as she walked along the corridor sent a pang through 
my heart. True, I had acted like a Scipio, but I felt like 
Anthony. I was proud in my strength, yet could not but 
sigh over my victory, and I buried my head in my pillow 
with rather a drowsy curse on frailty. 

The diligence started at eleven" next morning. We 
dined at Abbeville, and reached Paris at one o'clock the 
following day. I had plenty of time to collect my half- 
forgotten fragments of Gallic speech, and found to my 
entire satisfaction that I knew precious little of the lan- 
guage. But what does a man want with words when he 
has eyes and hands ? I staggered through the different 
articles of speech as a drunken man would make his 
way through crockery. I slipped over an article here 
and there, and broke a sentence into the smallest pieces, 
when I could not entirely clear it. 

We had a small dash of the pathetic on our route. An 
old soldier, with the " Cordon rouge," bidding adieu to 
some Parissienne, who had doubtless been gilding the 



AN AFFECTING SCENE. 49 

winter of his provincial discontent— it was extremely 
affecting. He took her hand with a tenderness not often 
exhibited bj martial men, and kissed her cheeks with a 
paternal dignity which would have removed even the sting 
from jealousy. A tear stood in her eye as she whispered, 
"Adieu, mon ami!" And yet the rattle of our diligence 
had scarcely died away upon the ear of her disconsolate 
friend, before she was ancle deep in a flirtation with her 
''' vis-a-vis /" 

Such is Parisian lightness of heart. The tear of sadness 
scarcely parts from the eye-lids before it is lost in the 
channel of a smile. 

The Abbey of St. Denis was the first French ^-lion" I 
had the pleasure of beholding. And now for the winter 
campaign ! Plenty of time, money, health — which way 
shall I turn ? Shall I rush into the Faubourgs, and live 
hand and glove with the students, the Macaires, the loafers ? 
Shall I patronize a "grisette," or abandon myself to the 
pleasures of the world among the "haut volee?" What 
shall I do ? Shall I enlarge my understanding and ex- 
haust my resources — or shall I pass my time morally, 
usefully, studiously ?— be an example of youthful gravity, 
or dwell a little longer in the vapors of mischief and folly ? 
How easy for a man of sound judgment to choose the 
proper path ! I vow by the finger of King John, that in 
two years from this date, 18—, I will be wise, virtuous, 
and happy — but in the mean time ? Well, in the mean 
time ! What ? Why, I will grovel in the " epicurean 
sty !" I will be a miniature edition of Sardanapalus ! 
*' Who's afear'd?" 



D 5 



50 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



"FAUBOURG ST. GERMAIN." 

I am in the old aristocratic quarter of St. Germain — 
redolent with the dying perfume of the " Ancien regime," 
and honored by the presence of the " Academie" and the 
" Sorbonne." Medicine and law reign supreme (always 
excepting the gens-d'arms,) over this section of Paris. 
The dissecting knife and the "Code Frangais" are the 
emblems of fraternity, and a billiard cue the " telegraphic 
conductor" of familiarity. Here I have acquired a glim- 
mering knowledge of the peculiar social arrangement of 
this community. The students are the Bedouins of Paris. 
They wander about the "Latin quartier" without and 
fixed idea or ostensible means of subsistence — their whole 
available property being confined to a Greek cap and a 
female companion. With these they manage to smoke 
through a certain period of time, and then flit upon the 
wings of a diploma, the Lord knows where — their place 
being instantly supplied by fresh hordes. 

The French women cannot be called handsome. They 
are flippant, heartless, and aifected. Their mouth is full 
of point and sentiment, and they can smile, weep, faint 
and hystericise to perfection ; but it is all sham ! Every 
thing with them is for effect. They speak, dress, act, with 
this one view, and it must .be confessed they do it with 
astonishing tact. The sincerity of a French woman 
scarcely survives her childhood. They are perfect slaves 
to " eclat," and will sacrifice health, comfort, consistency, 
feeling, principle, itself for mere brilliancy. Let a French 
woman but sparkle — let the Parisian world admit that 
she sparkles, and it is a matter of perfect indifference to 
her what defects of character may cloud her glory in the 
eyes of the good. Their loftiest idea of woman's position 



"PARIS EST UN ARTIST." 51 

and destiny is to please, and of course the only qualifica- 
tions necessary are the graces of mien and politeness of 
manners. Beyond this they don't pretend to look. They 
have but one instinct, and that is Love — not as an enno- 
bling, purifying feeling, but as a pleasure and a pastime, 
which may change its object and be unfettered by any of 
the sober principles of morality and reason. There is one 
virtue which they possess in an eminent degree : they 
never conceal their caprice or their vanity. They even 
disdain to conceal their art. Most other women are mere 
Bible definitions of faith — " the evidence of things not 
seen." It is one constant struggle at concealment, and 
she who bears her mask closest carries the palm. A 
French woman cares very little about your having a per- 
fect knowledge of the details of her toilet, provided the 
"tout ensemble" gratifies your eye. Beauty of outline is 
her ambition, and she will laugh with you at the oddness 
of "filling up." 

A French woman is to be regarded as a connoisseur 
does a painting — the style, the school, the details, the 
grouping, coloring, and efi'ect, must all mingle in one 
harmonious view. There is supposed to be a great dis- 
tinction between the native and the imported "Parisi- 
enne." The provinces send an annual supply of the 
latter into the metropolis. They have more heart and 
less elegance. Their feelings are not polished to that 
transparent hue which looks so beautiful, yet is so false in 
the native. Some one says : " On nait Parisienne, comme 
on nait poete ou rotisseur, la coquetterie developpe, mais 
ne cree pas. Paris n'invente pas ; il perfectionne. Le 
monde lui envoie des blocs de marbre; il en fait des 
statues. Paris est un artist." A French woman has 
but one solitary observance, and that is "form." This 
duly gone through, all else is nought. In the dominion 



52 WILD OATS, SOAVK ABHOAD. 

of Fashion, with her, Paris is the only true church—all 
beyond is heretical ground. In her manner and locomo= 
tion she is charming. She neither strides, nor minces, nor 
walks ; but she rather undulates — a sort of snaky motion 
— perhaps it is the remnant of the old serpent. There is 
only one misfortune which can compel her to leave Paris, 
and that is the loss of her beauty. It is impossible not to 
admire them ; but how an American could seriously marry 
one of them, is incomprehensible to me. A French hus- 
band is a mere symbol. You hear speak of him, but you 
don't see him. He is no obstacle in any of his wife's 
arrangements ; she appears to be the absorbing party, and 
if there is any personal identity lost in the contract, it most 
assuredly is his. I don't believe a French woman ever 
really loves ; she only selects ; and in a matrimonial sense, 
if she ever adores, it is the superfluities. They are as 
necessary to her as flowers to the butterfly. It is not to 
be supposed that there are no exceptions to these general 
principles; but there is an atmosphere of frivolity and 
looseness about this whole town which must, in a greater' 
or less degree, contaminate the moral constitution of all its 
inhabitants. I don't imagine that the aggregate of wicked- 
ness rises much higher than in other places; but it is more 
openly patronized. The French go on the principle that 
when a man sees a woman's foot and ankle, his imagina- 
tion naturally sees more, and they show the leg at once. 
You see the worst features of Paris at a blush. Vice 
stands unveiled, and the social system, like an ostrich, 
hides but a small portion of its carcase in the decencies of 
life, and leaves the rest uncovered. Suicide, foundling 
hospitals, &c., form strong features in a first glance at 
Paris. But one soon gets used to it. 



THE GUILLOTINE. 58 



LEAF ¥11 
AN EXECUTION BY GUILLOTINE. 

Paris, 18—. 

In visiting tlie guillotine, some months since, I had ex- 
pressed a desire to witness an execution, should any take 
place during my stay in Paris. I had almost forgotten 
the circumstance, when last night I received a very polite 
invitation from Monsieur Henri to be present this morning 
whilst he performed his duty upon some unfortunate victim, 
whose organ of destructiveness had led him to knock out 
the brains of one of his fellow creatures with a hammer. 

Executions in Paris, considering the population, are 
quite rare, and always take place early in the morning, 
without any previous announcement. The criminal him- 
self is only informed of the hour the night before. All 
this precaution is intended to prevent a crowd, and also to 
avoid whetting the appetite of the people with the sight 
of the Guillotine in play. It is generally erected after 
midnight, so that few, except those in the immediate neigh- 
borhood, can have time to congregate between daylight 
and the moment of execution. 

Eight o'clock was the hour appointed, and we were ad- 
vised to be there in season, as the government is very 
punctual in its performances. It was hardly daylight when 
we reached the Barrier of the Eue St. Jacques. We found 
but few persons there. A small body of mounted muni- 
cipal guards formed the inner circle round the spot ; im- 
mediately behind these were stationed some grenadiers, 
three or four paces apart. The majority of lookers-on ap- 
peared to be soldiers off duty, and the ubiquitous " gamins" 

5=^ 



54 . WILD OATSj SOWN ABROAD. 

of the Faubourg. We, as invited guests of the execu- 
tioner, were conducted into the smaller circle, and placed 
only a few yards from the instrument of death. The plat- 
form of the guillotine had a railing, and was rather higher 
than I had expected, there being some eight or ten steps 
to mount, so that the execution may be seen some distance 
off. The guillotine itself is a very simple contrivance — 
nothing but two perpendicular shafts about eighteen inches 
apart, and some 15 or 20 feet high. Between them, near 
the top, the axe, or knife, is held suspended by a spring, 
which being touched, it descends rapidly along the grooves 
in the sides of the shafts. The axe is triangularly shaped, 
and leaded at the top, so as to run swiftly and forcibly. 
At the lower part of these shafts is a wooden collar to fit 
the neck. The victim stands erect, a short distance off, on 
a foot-board, which reaches up to his breast. This board 
has straps attached for binding the party, in case he should 
prove unruly, and turns upon a pivot in the centre, so that 
fche executioner merely raises up the lower end of the board 
- — it immediately brings the man into a horizontal position, 
with his neck in the collar — the spring is at the same time 
touched and the knife falls — a box receives the head, and 
a long basket, which runs parellel with the victim, receives 
the trunk. 

While we were awaiting the arrival of the principal per- 
sonage in the drama, we overheard one of the guards 
giving an account of the execution of Fiesche, of " in- 
fernal machine" memory. I asked him how many execu- 
tions he had witnessed. He did not recollect; but he 
said that he had seen eleven persons executed in fourteen 
minutes. At the time I could not credit this assertion, 
but I soon had evidence of the possibility of the fact. 
Early as it was, the crowd began to increase rapidly. They 
laughed and joked together as though it was a farce instead 



^^GIVE US ANOTHER." 55 

of a tragedy they were about to witness. There was quite 
a ludicrous dispute kept up for some time between the occu- 
pants of sundry trees, near the scene of action, and the 
*'gens d'arms," who insisted on their vacating this leafy 
eminence. Plenty of witticisms were bandied about as these 
ragged climbers scrambled away from the points of the 
bayonets. Nothing can dampen a Frenchman's animal 
spirits. 

The prisoner came in a close carriage with the execu- 
tioner. He alighted, and paused a moment at the foot of 
the steps to speak to his confessor. He was a young man, 
stout, but small sized, and dressed in the blue " blouse" of 
a laborer. His face was pale as death, and his step some- 
what unsteady. He had probably never seen the guillo- 
tine, for his eye ran over the instrument, and at last 
settled with a stare upon the glittering knife, which had 
just caught the first rays of the morning sun. There must 
have been one dreadful concentration of agony as that 
poor fellow's imagination shaped the fatal process. The 
mere sliver of the knife is nothing ; but who can paint 
that one instant of consciousness as the first noise of its 
descent strikes his ear — before its cold edge passes with 
the crushing weight of eternity to its fearful goal. He 
had scarcely mounted the scaffold, and placed himself upon 
the foot-board, before the executioner had stripped him to 
the waist, and pushed him gently forward. His feet rose 
with the motion of the board, and there he lay, perfectly 
horizontal, with his face downwards and his neck in the 
collar. The knife came with a whizzing sound — -the head 
jumped forward— the trunk quivered convulsively, but was 
instantly rolled into the basket, and every trace of that 
unfortunate man disappeared from sight, save the " gouts" 
of blood upon the knife ! 

I could scarcely believe my own eyes ! Was it possible 



56 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

that life had been taken ? But a moment smce, I had 
seen that man step out of the carriage : and now he was 
gone — vanished — dead ! It was the quickness of thought 
— hardly time for an emotion. His rapid transit from the 
carriage to his wicker coiEn forbade even sympathy. He 
passed away like a shadow — almost too quick for the exer- 
cise of vision. No evidence of violence— no struggle — no 
torture — no apparent agony — no lifeless body — no distorted 
features, to brand their hideous impression upon the spec- 
tator. With the exception of a cold shiver as the heavy 
jar of the knife broke the painful silence, there was no 
other feeling produced in me during the execution, and 
that, too, was momentary. I had nerved myself for hor- 
ror, and there was not enough to shock the most sensitive. 

The guillotine — that name of terror, which has sounded 
the shame of "France in every quarter of the globe — ap- 
peared to me the most humane of instruments. We all 
looked at each other as if there ought to be more : there 
was an unsated something, which almost amounted to a 
desire for another victim, as " if the appetite increased by 
what it fed upon." We could partly account for the calm 
indiiFerence with which man after man was sent to the em- 
brace of this infernal machine during the period of the 
first Revolution. There is a neatness — a despatch — a cold- 
blooded apathy about the whole aiFair — that deceives a 
man into the belief that all is mere machinery. It only 
wants the aid of steam to make it perfect. There is no 
realizing sense of violence — and one almost doubts whether 
the victim be a man of straw, or real flesh and blood. It 
would have sounded very natural to hear the crowd cry 
out — " Give us another ! and let it be done slower so that 
we may see." I am by no means bloodthirsty, and yet I 
fear I should have joined in. 

The executioner was a very benevolent looking indi- 



POST MORTEM REFLECTIONS. 57 

vidua], with a soft, sleepy eye, and a certain quiet, gentle- 
manly manner, that was quite insinuating. He handed 
the criminal up the platform with the polished grace of 
the ancient regime, and no doubt begged his pardon as he 
removed the poor fellow's cap. , 

After the execution, water was thrown upon the instru- 
ment. The head was thrown into the same basket with 
the trunk, and both handed over to the dissecting knife. 
I noticed two drummers stationed near the scaffold- 
intended, perhaps, to drown the voice of the party in case 
he should address the crowd. It was thus Henriot stopped 
Louis XYI. when he attempted to speak. 

I afterward went to the Ecole Pratique to see the re- 
mains. The neck had been very smoothly severed, about the 
third vertebra. The expression of the face was remarka- 
ble : not the least trace of pain — not the slightest distor- 
tion of feature ; but there was a settled sorrow — an in- 
tense sadness — about every line of that pallid visage. It 
had more the appearance of deep sleep than death — the 
sleep that follows mental exhaustion. We were satisfied 
that no muscular action could have taken place after the 
blow — and as to the blush which is said to have suffused 
the face of Charlotte Corday when the executioner held up 
the severed head, and slapped her cheek, it is all absurdity 
— French nonsense. Yet, for mere supposition sake, if a 
person could feel conscious for a second or two after 
decapitation, and be aware of one's mutilated condition, 
how excessively awkward must be the sensation ! one must 
feel a sort of " divided duty" — a two-fold existence — like 
a broken series of equations. Yet it must be a moment 
of refreshing intellectual energy — cut off from the earthy 
part — the vile body : — grand subject for speculation ! — 
Why don't somebody give us " The Reflections of a De- 
capitated Man?" If it turned out stupid, he might excuse 
himself for want of head. 



68 WILD OATS^ SOWN ABEOAD. 



LEAF YIIL 
CRITICISM— ''TEMPUS FUGIT." 

Paris, 18—. 
I KNOW nothing about painting or sculpture. I am try- 
ing to get an idea or two from books — but it is slow work, 
I never did liKe fixed rules — the erratic has too great a 
charm for me, and when I stroll through the galleries of 
the Louvre, I invariably find myself admiring some out- 
lawed effort of genius, which the arbitrary taste of the 
connoisseur has criticised down to the marshy district of 
mediocrity. There must be some radical defect in my 
ideas of the beautiful in art. A cloud of ignorance is 
brooding over me. My knowledge of the divine art is 
like an alderman's law — just deep enough to lead me into, 
error, and I shrink back at the labor of acquiring ^lore. 
My eye is corrupt, and carries away my judgment at 
every view of the original and striking, without any regard 
for the excellent. There is no doubt a great deal of non- 
sense perpetrated in the shape of artistical criticism. The 
cant terms of "tone," "warmth," "rapidity," "soul," 
and a thousand other quackeries, which pictures are be- 
dazzled with, can only be enjoyed by the initiated. My 
weak vision recognizes but few points in this wide field of 
canvas-gazing — the close imitation of the natural, and the 
natural idealized ; in the first, the artist's excellence lies 
in his choice — his coloring — his correctness of outline, and 
his arrangement of the subject ; — in the last lie all the 
others with the boundless tract of poetry and invention 
superadded. Farther than this I cannot forioW""my plebe- 



FASHIONABLE CRITICISM. 59 

ian foot falters — -the deep design — the far-reaching allegory 
— the thoughtful mysticism — that shadowing forth of a tran- 
scendental something which the connoisseur detects in pic- 
tures, is vaguely shrouded from my unskilful gaze. The 
filmy cataract has not yet yielded to the touch of the picto- 
rial oculist. Whether my Italian travel that is to be, will 
give me this " mystical lore" is more than I can venture 
to assert. Those elaborate criticisms which I have waded 
through, have much of the character of Homeric notes. 
They would make the " blind old man" wonder at all he 
knew, and puzzle him not a little to understand the full 
bearing of his ©wn text — and the old painters would be in 
the same predicament to discern the true character of 
their designs. The highest order of these great artists 
painted as they dreamed — no more — the grace, beauty, 
and loveliness of expression which a Raffaelle, a Correggio, 
or a Guide, have immortalized in their Madonnas, their 
Magdalens, and their Heathen Divinities, are but the 
idealities v/hich visit all in a greater or less degree, but 
which the gifted few alone have the power to substantiate 
— to summon from their floating, varying evanescence of 
shadow, into form and permanency. Why ask for more ? 
Why sublimate upon the etherial texture of their minds, 
and insist upon their having dreamed more than dreams, 
and seen more than visions ? There is scarcely any would- 
be critical description or analysis of a picture which does 
not describe more than the painter intended, and fre- 
quently ascribes causes for their grand effects, which he 
distinguishes at once, but which the painter did not aim 
at. I must content myself with the negative enjoyment 
of admiring these things without understanding their 
deeper mysteries, or I shall lose myself in the pictorial 
kantism of the day. At present I see in Raifaelle the 
most beautiful of all creators; in Correggio the most 



60 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

attractive ; in Guido, all that is silvery and soft. Of 
Angelo, of Dominichino, of Da Yinci, of Del Sarto, and 
the Caracci, I have seen nothing. — In Salvator I have 
no difficulty to mark the gloomy ; in Rembrandt, the dig- 
nified; in Van Dyke the polished, and in Keubens the 
coarse, clumsy, flashy, and dashing spirit of self-confidence 
and genius. It is rather amusing for an American ■whose 
knowledge of this art is confined to the elaborate produc- 
tions of his Primer book, and the frontispiece of fashion- 
able magazines, to be passing judgment upon the master- 
pieces of all time — but then it is so pleasant to get up an 
opinion of one's own, though it be of the inverted pyra- 
midical order, and to spin it round and buzz it in every 
body's ears, until it sinks to sleep like any other school- 
boy's top. Descartes' evidence of existence should have 
extended to the possession of an opinion — with many men 
it is their sole property, and they do exercise the right of 
ownership most distinctly and exclusively. What a happy 
state matrimony would be if a man in absorbing the iden- 
tity of his wife, could also absorb her opinions ! In the 
present stage of civilization it is very clear that one's 
opinions of things is reduced to a science ; but one's 
opinion of persons is still an instinct, and one's opinion of 
one's own dear self is indisputably a religion which would 
fire and faggot every disbeliever ; — but where are we wan- 
dering to ? " Come back, ye mental brats," as Nelly 
Gwinn once called her royal bastards. 



'' Tempus fugit.'' I quote that to convince myself of a 
rather dubious fact : my estimable parent did give me a 
classical education, but I can only realize its intense 
absurdity when I venture to make use of it. " Tempus 
fugit" is a Latin quotation. ''Yes," says the witling, 
"but it would hardly require great ability to reach a 



WHISKEY PUNCH AND LOGIC. 61 

complete knowledge of said quotation without ever entering 
the walls of a college." Yes, child, but there is no 
philosophy in that remark. No man ever did or ever can 
know the full force of "Tempus fugit," that did not learn 
it from a collegiate tutor ; besides, I don't want to argue 
the point; I only deal in assertion — and I assert most 
positively that '' Tempus fugit" recalls more vividly the 
remembrance of a classical education than any other piece 
of Latinity in the whole range of Ernesti. Just think of 
swamping four years in hot whiskey punch and logic — 
then graduating in white kid gloves and raven outlines, 
with a ruined constitution and a vast amount of elegant 
encumbrances ! — then step over here and begin to wonder 
whether it would not have been more to the purpose to 
waste the aforesaid years in hunting down French and 
German idioms ; then have the climax capped by a pretty 
French woman quizzing you unmercifully with the equi- 
voques of her language, and truly one is forced to ejaculate 
most mournfully, " Tempus fugit." The faded beauty is 
not more vexed at the truth of her mirror than I have 
been at the retrospect of hours consumed over Greek 
hexameters, and airy triangles. How fortunate, after all, 
were those "svho fell by the way-side; martyrs to conic 
sections ! or victims to their philosophical indifference 
of "form." I have been led into this current lately 
by being obliged to devote two hours every morning 
to my French tutor. It is deplorable; I came in pur- 
suit of pleasure, and behold ! the curse of labor still 
follows me ! This life here — indeed, life in any place, 
with a sufficiency of gold, is excessively agreeable. 
Breakfast at eleven in slippers and study-gown — tw^o 
hours to the tutorship and toilet — a game of billiards 
now is refreshing. You may then throw yourself ago- 
nizingly upon the Boulevards, and expire gracefully in 

6 



62 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

a social prattle with the presiding divinity of the " Cafe 
Lembiin;" her "eau de vie," mantled with a smile, 
will soon revive your pleasurable exhaustion, and you 
can then indulge yourself an hour or two at the intel- 
lectual banquet of Barthelemy, Saint Hilaire or Adam 
Mickiewiez or Royer Collard — or if in a slaughtering 
mood, you can criticise the operations of Roux or 
Valpeau. Then comes a constitutional walk free from 
flirtation or viciousness of any kind. In this walk I 
never execute the most abandoned worshipper. I even 
deny myself the subdued emotion of a new and most 
decided conquest. I sacrifice myself entirely to the 
gastric juices : it is the mere man-machine in search 
of appetite. By six, destiny has fixed upon your 
dinner. This should be a " filet de boeuf," with Madeira 
sauce — a bottle of Chambertin or Clos Vaugeos, and 
whatever else your purse will sanction. The opera 
then unfolds her velvet doors and the voices of " cher- 
ubim and seraphim" hover around you ; yes, Paris is 
quite plastic — you can make it take what shape yoti 
please, always provided you "put money in your purse." 
Gold is the Glendower that evokes the spirits from 
this vasty deep. On Tuesday night you have the 
Prado, On Wednesday, the Rue St. Honore; on 
Thursday, the Salle Yictoire, and so on until the 
end of the chapter. These dancing saloons are full 
of life — here you see the lorette, the grisette, the 
blanchisseuse, the student, and the stranger; here the 
famous "Queen Pomare" and the dark-eyed "Waltzer 
of the Prado," shower their favors upon suitors seared 
and dry as "Autumnal leaves in Vallombrosa ;" here 
flourishes that seductive waltz which Potiphar's wife 
should have taught Joseph, and thus destroyed the 
moral of her tale. Poor Mrs. Potiphar ! where was 



SHYLOCK ASKS FOR JUSTICE! 63 

your tact ? Here that great National dance, the 
^' Cancan" — interdicted by law and gospel — shadows 
forth its wild propensities under the very eye of the 
police ; — a singular affair it is too ! quite indescribable. * 
It must haye been invented by a genius. I under- 
stand the late Duke of Orleans introduced it to a very 
select court circle, where it became quite the rage. 
It is very lascivious, but when danced well, has such 
a fascinating movement that it is impossible to find 
fault with its unequivocal pantomime. There are many 
varieties of it : some, indeed, amounting to complete dis- 
tortion of the body, and I have seen the " Cancan" when I 
really thought the dancers were in a nervous agony. 
These balls are obliged to close at eleven o'clock. A 
passing visit to the " Aveugles" is not to be despised ; they 
are under the " Cafe Lemblin" in the Palais Eoyal. The 
music is so-so, but the performance of the " Sauvage" on 
the drum is striking ! it is emphatically the richest hum- 
bug in Paris. He is dressed like the pictures of the Inca 
of Peru, and looks fierce as the essence of a thousand 
*^ Dalgettys." On a sudden he rushes from behind a 
curtain, as if stung by a gad-fly. He seizes his drum 
sticks, and almost annihilates his audience with a glare. 
Expectation is now on tip-toe ; nothing short of cannibal- 
ism is looked for from such a piece of rampant ferocity. 
The music of the blind harpers commences, when, "oh! 
most lame and impotent conclusion," the promising and 
melting savage closes his short and war-like career in a 
ludicrous "tattoo" — and yet the spectators are delighted; 
the girls are lost in admiration of his splendid muscle, and 
the men are lost in the depths of savage grandeur and 
villainous beer. At the top of the stairs leading to this 
precious interlude of the general madness, stands a mud- 
eyed individual with coat "for two,-" and a cocked hat 



64 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



large enough to awaken reflections on a grand scale in the 
emphist noddle. It is just the kind of hat to salute the 
Pyramids with, or to withstand a charge of cavalry. This 
k door-keeper, or rather this combined result of many ward- 
robes, cries out continually — "Venez!" "Venez, Mes- 
sieurs!" "Ici"— '*ici!" "Chose extraordinaire!" "Le 
Sauvage." " Messieurs !" — and does the honors of your 
entree with fervent grace. " Pardon, Monsieur !" " Place 
pour Monsieur — par ici — pardon — non — par la! bien !" — 
and then, with an amplified swing of his coat tail, he 
mounts again to ensnare "more men." I have seen some 
excellent "by play" down in that cavern of the "Aveu- 
gles" — but, then the beer is so WTetched, and the segar 
smoke so herculean, it almost knocks one down. By the 
way, this morning my bell rang, and a modest-looking 
grisette came sliding along into my ante-chamber; she 
curtseyed, blushed, apologized — a mistake — was in search 
of Monsieur Somebody, &c. Just as I was proving that a 
slight error in this case was no error at all, I was relieved 
by the arrival of the student who occupies the room 
behind mine, and I bowed myself very politely into retreat- 
ing order. I felt like a cut-off fountain, stopped at mid- 
day, in the full light of the sun; the "nasty" student had 
the impudence to thank me profusely for having answered 
the bell. Never mind, his bell will ring again, and we 
shall see whether his goods shall pass my ante-chamber 
without " stoppage in transitu." If we must be tenants 
in common of the department, I will claim my share of the 
profits, no alloying of the precious metals without ray con- 
currence. Shylock asks for Justice. 



LORETTE AND GLISETTE. 65 



LEAF IX. 

THE LORETTE AND THE GRISETTE. 

Paris, 18 — . 
There are two species of the genus Womaiij wMcli re- 
volve more or less remote in the visual orbit of the stranger 
in Paris: and which afford him, perhaps, more food for his 
peculiar telescopic observation than brighter luminaries. 
They are the " Lorettes" and the " Grisettes." The Lo- 
rette is the child of any body— mostly some colonel in the 
"grande armie." She neither "toils nor spins." Her 
worldly goods are a tooth-brush, a seal of original device, 
and a host of under-petticoats. Her partiality for the 
latter article is extravagant, and she sometimes swells 
them out to an incredible circumference. Her accomplish- 
ments are manifold. She regards life as a "deshabille," 
which should be unrestricted by any social chord. To her, 
money is a fiction. Champagne and Burgundy are all she 
knows of France ; and as for the beef-steaks she consumes, 
why she conceives them a natural product, like the fungus 
of the forest. She has all the graces of voluptuousness and 
all the charm of virtue — but it is virtue after its fall. In her 
mouth indelicacy becomes wit, and " badinage" warms into 
sincerity. The Lorette becomes the friend of a prince or a 
peer, a Turk or a minister. Her lover is selected from the 
theatre or from among the artists. The Grisette is the 
particular property of the student — his wife, only without 
the legal sanction — his slave, only without the jurisdiction 
of the " bow-string." She smokes his pipe until " cu- 
lotted." She drains the "salve d'amour" from his goblet. 
She shares his antipathies and adores his friends. More- 
E €* ■ 



G6 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

over, she supports herself, and frequently her lover. She 
is a degenerate image of the Fretillon of Beranger. The 
Lorette is the result of luxury — the Grisette of over 
populousness. The former takes the path of coquetterie to 
ruin — the latter the high road of the passions. The Lo- 
rette dresses with great care and finish. Her toilet is a 
sort of "prospectus" for the passing speculator to invest 
at his peril. The dividend is very uncertain. With the 
Grisette the prospectus is plainer, but there is less to lose 
for the instalments are lighter. With your Griseft;e it is 
your first kiss — with the Lorette it is your first dinner. 
The Lorette is becomingly devout — the Grisette supersti- 
tiously so, The one kneels rather in behalf of her grace- 
ful mantilla, than herself — the other prostrates herself un- 
reservedly to the business of devotion. 

I do not know whether it is a marked characteristic of 
the Lorettes, or whether it is common to most women, but I 
find that at the very time she is portraying most eloquently 
with her tongue, her fixed aversion to the measure in pro- 
cess, she is making but feeble resistance to your encroach- 
ments upon her toilet. I could never account for this want 
of generalship. History would give a strange account of 
that commander who should attempt to defend his fortress 
by playing with his flute upon the ramparts while the 
enemy were scaling the walls. Philosophy is mightily 
puzzled to' account for a woman's vagaries. - Ask her for a 
small favor, and she treats you as the Athenians did Aris- 
tides ; seize her as Napoleon did Venice, and the key of 
her possessions is in your hand. When Belisarius com- 
mands, the world obeys ; when Belisarius turns beggar, the 
w^eakest may refuse. 

But we are " ofi* soundings" again! The Grisette is 
passionately fond of smoking. She also taketh great de- 
light in the exhibition at the " Chateau d'Eau," where the 



KISSING DAY. 67 



little fellow with the big head discourseth wisdom and wit- 
ticism with the learned door-keeper of the wax-works and 
puppet-show. Here you will see her in the midst of the 
crowd with her clean cap and pannier basket, listening to 
the cynical remarks of the little man with the big head. 

The "Bonne" is another character to be seen around 
these exhibitions. She is "my lady's maid" and confidant 
— the children's guardian and the lover's mercury. She 
takes the place of the mistress on more occasions than one. 
She is an ardent admirer of Punchinello and " Le Chien 
Flora." She devours enormous quantities of " gaiet," and 
as the keeper of her mistress' conscience, occupies compa- 
ratively a high social position. No man should make war 
without securing the " Bonne" for ah ally. This is done 
by a trifling outlay of platonic affection and five-franc pieces. 



KISSING DAY— THE "TATTOO." 

Jan, 1st.- — This is the day of general salutation. On a 
rough calculation, there is probably more kissing done in 
France on New Year's day than the whole American na- 
tion accomplish in a year. I am a very indolent man my- 
self, and yet I managed "to bag" a brace of ladies — four 
married women, one widow, a semi- virgin, one child in arms, 
and a score or two of Lorettes and Grisettes. The widow 
1 took upon the wing. They are such a scary bird ; I do 
not know how long my ammunition would have held out, 
but, unfortunately for the day's sport, we all got slightly 
intoxicated at the dinner-table, and could hardly be called 

in kissing order. Friend D was shockingly far gone ; 

his diseased vision recognized nothing but " gens-d'arms," 
and he was continually striking out at the innocent empty 
bottles arrayed before him. He entreated in the most ear- 
nest manner, to be allowed to knock a long-necked flask of 



68 WILD OATS; SOWIST ABROAD. 

" Maraschino" down, as lie was confident it *was the iden- 
tical "gen d'arme" of the " Salle Victoire," who had once 
put an extinguisher upon his merriment. There was no 
mistaking his long neck. He succumbed gradually. We 
lifted his sinking remains from the festive-board, and car- 
ried him like a vanquished warrior to bed. As I settled 
his head on the pillow, he pressed my hand affectionately, 
and begged we would execute him with his face upwards, 
and not forget to tell his wife that he had lived virtuously 
even in Paris, and now died happy ! 

I smiled at his dying confession, and whispered in his 
ear, with the solemnity of a father confessor, " Remember 
Rue Montmartre and the sisters two ?" 

His eye gleamed w^ith a sort of drunken memory, and 
he hiccoughed out, "Oh, misery I wasn't Agnes ugly?" 
Oblivion was upon him. 

Last night we had rather a rich joke. It was im- 
promptu, and we enjoyed it wonderfully. S and my- 
self had just returned from the opera. As we entered my 
ante-chamber, we heard a terrible drumming in our court 
yard. What the deuce could it mean ? Quite alarming ! 
It was near midnight, and there stood a file of drummers 
beating their drums most lustily. Up went the windows 
over-looking the court-yard. All was commotion in the 

American quarter. D and X , unable to get any 

information from their windows, came rushing down stairs, 

and met S at the door of my room. It was as dark 

as a cavern, for we had as yet no light. 

" Hush!" says S , to the party; "there's the devil 

to pay ! The gens-d'arms are after Y ■ !" 

I took the scent, and immediately threw myself under 
the bed-clothes. 

"My God!" cries both at once, "what's the matter?" 

Here S lowered, his voice to a whisper, and told 



THE TATTOO. 69 



how we had get into a row — how I had stabbed three 
Frenchmen in the Rue de Bussy, and received a tremen- 
dous cut in the side — (here I groaned audibly.) The 
drums changed to a tattoo, and I could hear X- — — breath- 
ing hard under the excitement. 

'' Horrible !" whispered D— , " What shall we do ?" 

"Lock all the doors," says S— . "Let's get into 

Y 's room, and strike a light. I have an instrument 

case in my pocket," 

Here they entered my room, and while S was fumb- 
ling about for a match, D came feeling his way up to 

my bed, and asked me where I was hurt. I groaned fear- 
fully, for I should have laughed outright if I had at- 
tempted to answer. In my hurry to get into bed, I had 
kept my hat and gloves on, and now succeeding in pulling 
my hat over my face before the candle was brought, I pre- 
sented rather a crippled appearance to my examiners. 
How S — ■ — could look on unmoved is a mystery. While 

D was feeling my pulse, X made an effort to 

remove my hat. This was fatal to our scheme, for my 
eye fell full upon the pale, spectacled face of X — — , and 
then a wink from S finished me ! I roared convul- 
sively. D looked aghast. The resurrection of Laza- 
rus was not more startling to the beholders. X — — did 
not know whether to laugh or cry. He was perplexed in 
the extreme. Both were candid enough to admit that we 

had quizzed them beautifully. 

The drumming, we afterwards discovered, was intended 

to announce to one of our neighbors that he was drawn to 

serve the ensuing year in the National Guards. 



70 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



LEAF X. , 

/ THE MASKED BALL — "THE INCOGNITA." 

Paris, 18 — . 

The masked balls have commenced ! They are racy, 
wicked, and brilliant. Just imagine some six thousand 
people let loose at midnight in the Grand Opera House, 
determined to dance, flirt, shout, and gallop until morn- 
ing, with Musard for the presiding genius ! I got my 
first view of the floor from one of the upper tiers, and I 
thought there was a general rush to insanity. The dance 
was in full blast, and from the very foot of the orchestra 
to the balustrade of the boxes was one grand " cancanic" 
movement. The soul of every man and woman seemed 
absorbed in the enthusiasm of a shuffle, or the delight of a 
whirl ; while the fiddle bow of Musard described the most 
fantastic diagrams upon the frighted air. The boxes were 
crowded with dominoes of every description, and it was 
almost impossible to get through the dense mass of 
intriguants assembled in the foyer. Disguised voices and 
unknown pressures of the hand, greeted you from every 
side. 

I went down to get a better look at the dancers. I had 
scarcely touched the floor before I was whizzed off in the 
embrace of some big warrior, and away went the gallopade, 
neck or nothing — hundreds before, hundreds behind me, 
they came like the Assyrian. I was in the very midst of 
the melee. My warrior urged me on, shouting, pushing, 
heller skelter, until we all fell head foremost upon one 
another. Then came a burst like a war-whoop. I found 



THE MASKED BALL. 71 

myself at least three deep among the petticoats. My hat 
was^irretrievably ruined. In another moment we were all 
on our legs again. Amiability reigned supreme. " Give 
and take," was the motto. A hasty "pardon" was suffi- 
cient atonement for receiving a flesh wound from the spur 
of a cavalier, or having your eye damaged by the pointed 
chapeau of some military hero. The personation of the 
devil is a favorite character, and you see his red legs and 
chicken-cock feather on every occasion. The women de- 
light in playing the " gamin" — a vagabond sort of boy, — 
or the Spanish cavalier, with slashed sleeves and velvet 
sombrero. It is no easy matter to detect your most inti- 
mate acquaintance in domino and mask. The figure is so 
completely concealed, and the eyes have such a singular 
appearance, peeping from behind the pasteboard bulwarks, 
that they can defy the closest scrutiny. It is a point of 
honor not to attempt to raise the small piece of silk falling 
from the bottom of the mask over the mouth ; so you have 
but few points left to identify your tormentor. The hand 
and foot may sometimes betray, but your cunning intri- 
guante takes good care never to draw her glove or allow 
you to tie her shoe. I detected a little wretch the other 
evening by a habit she had of shaking herself; but I am 
dreadfully puzzled now with a very lady-like looking domi- 
no, who has accosted me at every Bal Masque yet given at 
the Opera Comique. I cannot imagine who the tantalizing 
witch is. She will neither walk with me, sup with me, nor 
dance with me. She talks French and English fluently, 
and is always with the same gentleman. 

The most astonishing part of her knowledge is that she 
pronounces my name distinctly and correctly — a thing no 
foreign woman has ever yet done. Ergo, she must be an 
American ; yet her conversation is too loose for that — 
besides, she knows too much about tactics and the conve- 



72 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

niences of social freedom. My first encounter with her 
was startling. I was trying to talk German with an 
Alsatian girl who had as pretty a neck as ever spurned a 
chemisette, when I heard some one whisper in my ear, 
"You speak wretched German for a P.ennsylvanian, edu- 
cated among the Moravians." 

I turned about as if shot, and in the forgetfulness of 
astonishment, exclaimed, "Who the devil are you?" 

She said, laconically, "I am the devil," and glided oii. 

I cut the Alsatianne, and followed the new sphinx. 
She wore a pink domino, with the hood closely drawn 
over, and ruffled. I could not even see the color of her 
hair. Her partner was very tall and very ugly. He 
looked neither foreign nor domestic. I could make no- 
thing of him. They spoke little to each other, and after 
a turn or two joined a bevy of masks in one of the boxes. 
These were evidently natives. I entered, and requested 
the pleasure of a stroll with the pink domino. She declined 
— was tired ; said she had strolled often enough with me in 
America, and found me a very stupid companion. 

I ventured to insinuate that perhaps my visit to Paris 
had improved me. She doubted whether that was possi- 
ble, as my conceit Vt^ould prevent me from taking advan- 
tage from the opportunity. This was sharp shooting, and 
I coolly told the lady I hoped she possessed sufficient cha- 
racter to study it with the same care she had evidently 
studied mine. 

Here we had a cessation of hostilities. I began to plot 
a bold move for a discovery. 

" Did your sister accompany you to Paris ?" says I. 

"Try it again," says she. "You used to be famous at 
college for your diplomatic ability." 

I was slightly dashed, but returned the charge. 

" I take this opportunity, my sharp-tongued beauty, to 



THE INCOGNITA. 73 



fling an unpalateable truth or two at you; but I will be 
generous. I knew you by your walk, and, to proTe my 
knowledge, I need only tell you that you have red hair." 

''You were never more mistaken in your life," says she, 
and pulled back her hood. It was all I aimed at — but it 
availed me little. Her hair was dark, without ornament 
of any kind, and, to my utter disappointment, uncurled. 

I was now without helm or compass, and begged for 
quarter. She consented to meet me in the foyer, provided 
I would not make the slightest effort at discovery, or 
behave at all imprudently. This latter clause savored of 
Americanism; yet I feel perfectly convinced she is no 
American. She told me of my intended trip to Italy, 
naming my route, and my companion. Where she got 
this information from is the greatest mystery of all, as we 
had but a few days before decided upon those matters. 
She promised to meet me in the San Carlo, at Naples, on 
the last night of the Carnival. She will then enlighten 
me upon sundry perplexing riddles, to which she pretends 
to hold the key. This is doubtless gammon. In the 
meantime, I shall see her once. more at the Academie 
Royale, and perhaps unaccompanied by her tall protector. 

After much legerdemain, I succeeded in stealing her 
handkerchief. I felt like Bonaparte at Marengo. I 
ran my eye over every inch of it, but it was blank as 
a virgin page or a dandy's face ; not even a hieroglyphic. 
My invention is now exhausted, and if some accident do 
not favor me in our next interview, I shall be reduced 
to despair. But I m^uch mistake human nature if she 
is positively determined not to give me some clue to the 
secret. 

Last night, D and myself made a slight error, and 

took possession of a private carriage in front of the 
theatre, mistaking it for a hack ; indeed, the rain was 



74 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



falling in torrents, and in the darkness and hurry vre 
took no trouble to distinguish the difference. The coach- 
man grew furious at the astonishing coolness with which 
I ordered him to drive us to our lodgings. The little 
man threatened to hand us over to the police if we did not 
descend instanter. I insisted upon explaining the matter 
before alighting, but the incensed Jehu would not listen 
to me, fully persuaded that we had entered the coach 
designedly. Finding him unreasonable, I became indig- 
nant, and knocked the unhappy man's hat over his eyes. 
We made our escape into another vehicle, while he was 
filling the depths of his hat with execrations, and dancing 
about in the rain like a decapitated chicken. 

In a few weeks we start for Italy. I begin to grow weary 
of these crowds without company, and this dissipation with- 
out pleasure. I long for ruins — for vestiges of the giant king- 
doms of old — for meditation — for change ; give me a look 
at the tideless Mediterranean ! — at Geneva la Superba ! 
New worlds of enchantment are spread out before me ; 
why should I tarry longer here ? A curse on the imagina- 
tion ! Why are we not satisfied with what we have ? I 
must devote a few days to sight-seeing, lest I should be 
hurried for time when I return. There is Pere le Chaise, 
and the Gobelins, and a visit to Versailles, and the Abbey 
of St. Denis. I must also be presented to Georges Sandj 
and must not forget to see Civiale operate. 

What will become of my flirtation with the modiste in 
the Rue de Bussy ? It has reached its most interesting 
point. She replied to my last note, and vows she never 
had an Arthur, and never will have one. Poor creature I 
what a melancholy fate ! she must be handed over to 

S . I danced with Marie at the last masked ball, 

and she called S. a '^ lapinchaud." What could he have 
been doing ?'* 



?HE CHARMS OF PARIS. 75 



LEAF XI. 

OUR DEPARTURE FROM PARIS, • 

Paeis, 18.— 
We started this morning at llj o'clock, for Chalons — 
not one petticoat in the whole diligence; and a dreary- 
looking cloud dropping an occasional tear or two, was our 
only accompaniment down the Kue de FArbre and across 
the old Pont Neuf. We rattled on at a dreadful pace. 
The streets were just dirty enough to afford a tolerable 
excuse of the display of a pretty leg and ancle. There 
was quite an exhibition of them along the Quai, and, like 
other blessings, they seemed rounder, neater, brighter, 
as we dashed through the barriere de la Gare into the 
distance, and left Paris and its mysteries, perhaps, for 
ever ! Not as a Neophyte had I entered the vast metro- 
polis of pleasure, nor was I about to leave it with a very 
exalted idea of its extravagantly lauded enchantment. 
The charm of Paris is said to be its infinite variety, 
its social freedom, and the advantages it presents for 
the gratification of sensuality; of course the man of 
mere idlesse rarely looks farther. For the real stu- 
dent who wishes to employ his time usefully, I know 
of no place equal to Paris; but for the "refined loafer," 
its superiority has been greatly overrated. Its variety 
consists in some eighteen or twenty theatres, whose 
highest ambition is to see which can run a given piece 
the longest time, and in some two or three balls • per 
week, whose only recommendation is their brevity. For 
the novice and the debauchee it is a paradise — the former 
being satisfied with any thing,- the latter requiring a 



76 WILT) OATS5 SOWN ABROAD, 

brutality of pleasure which would not be tolerated in 
any other capital. 

Night after night have I passed from one scene of 
mis-called gratification to another, and the same weari- 
some repetition of face and farce met me continually, 
A perfect toilet and a fascinating manner — -good wine and 
an excellent cuisine, constitute the whole essence of Paris. 
Yes, there is one other admirable quality which the women 
possess : the handsomest feet and legs, and the cleanest 
stockings in the world ; but there the catalogue ends. As 
companions they are witty, talkative, and agreeable ; as 
mistresses they are cold, calculating and damnable. Early 
and continued prostitution renders them unfeeling and 
worthless. They substitute art — indeed, they live on art. 
"Life is art and art is Life," with them; they doubtless 
deceive themselves, and, like great actors, believe they are 
the character they portray. Strange, that in a city like 
Paris, where individual existence is a mere drop in the 
ocean, all, from the attic companion to the Prime Minister, 
spend their life in striving to raise their dead in some 
shape or other above the great mass ; and your lorette, 
who has wheedled her lover into paying for a pine-apple 
at the " Trois Freres," actually believes that all Paris 
is aware of her having dined on the delicious exotic, 
the expense of w^hich her fond adorer is recovering 
from by a species of smallnesses too contemptible to 
have their origin in any but the head of a Frenchman. 
A carriage and a purse are all the requisites for in- 
flaming Parisian adoration. Let the godly temple of 
your person be ever so shabby, the devotees will crowd 
around it, from the sable cloak of the Chaussee D'Antin 
down to the denuded bosom of the Latin Quartier. Go to 
a licensed house of prostitution — half the National Guard 
will have been there before you. Go to a procuress — pay 



CHANGING HORSES. ' 77 

. . . %. 
ner enormously, and the probabilities are that the " fresh 

girl from the provinces" will turn out to be jour own or 
the mistress of a friend. Go '^ solitary and alone" to cuU 
from the general crowd, and the chances are a few months 
residence in the hospital of Ricord. Such are some of the 
claims which Paris has to being called the home of plea- 
sure ! Save me from the delicious ecstacies of the Pari- 
sienne. No wonder *' L'homme blase" is such a common 
character. With all my resources and Epicurean philo- 
sophy, ^' three little months" sufficed to make me quite 
blase with the simple joys of Paris; in the "complex" 
ones I felt no disposition to participate ; but then the 
masked balls! they are an exception — they stand unri- 
valled — and it is only French abandonment that can give 
the necessary soul to these splendid exhalations. 

But our diligence has reached Charenton — not much of 
a place; indeed, the same may be said of most French 
villages ; generally, a row of low, plastered houses, with a 
dirty auberge. Here stand two of the detached forts, in- 
tended to protect Paris. With what rapidity French pos- 
tillions change horses : A curse, a kick, a crack of the 
whip, and all is over. One has scarcely time to steady the 
refreshing flask of cordial on the lip before the huge ma- 
chine is in motion. It would be rather amusing to see a 
diligence break into an American village ! It would create 
a greater sensation than a menagerie. The postillion's 
boots would be the first point of attack for the young de- 
mocracy ; his short-tailed coat would receive a respectable 
proportion of the slang ; and should he unfortunately be 
undersized, so as to make the mass of leather show to ad- 
vantage, there is no telling the consequences. A conven- 
tion of tanners would doubtless be held, to take measures 
for th« immediate adoption of that style of dress, and the 
poor victim of juvenile curiosity and persecution would be 



78 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

glad enough to creep into one of his own boots, to avoid 
further molestation. What a laugh the railroad stock- 
holders would indulge in, as they criticised the dimensions 
and terrible weight of the mammoth vehicle — prophesying 
death to all the horses in the country ; and w^ith what a 
contemptible sneer our four-in-hand Jehus would regard the 
necessity for postillions: The coupe and interior might 
meet with some advocates ; but the shocking rotunda would 
be condemned distinctly. Some Brummell of a saddler 
might also venture to ask " if that was harness !" and eye 
it with the same sovereign indignation bestowed upon the 
"Duke's coat." 

But with all this your diligence is a very comfortable 
sort of thing, and, for a long journey, decidedly preferable 
to any other species of conveyance — that is, provided you 
have this coupe corner seat, with nobody in the middle, 
and a very pleasant creature in the other corner. Now 
here I have plenty of room to sleep, plenty of room to 
eat, &c., &c., — while the conductor takes a good care to 
keep my feet warm by replenishing with coals a sort of 
brass compartment in the floor ; so we jolt along right 
pleasantly, and have already reached Montereau. Prom 
those heights yonder Napoleon poured destruction upon 
the allies in 1814, and where that bridge over the Seine 
stands, the Duke of Burgundy (Jean Sans Peur,) was 
murdered, so says the incomparable Murray, prince of 
Guides. 

On through Sens to Auxerre, where grows the Chablis 
wine ; roads muddy, and soil bad — nothing but up hill and 
down. Another night before we can reach Chalon. 

I got through last night admirably — slept from seven 
o'clock till midnight — waked with a tremendous appetite — 
reached into the pocket of the diligence to examine our 
stock of provisions — found a poulet and a bottle of Chab- 



ABELARD AND HELOISE. 79 

~ J ■ — — — ■' 

lis. The moon was sliining gloriously, and beneath its 
chaste light I proceeded to the dissection of the poulet. 
My principal weapon was a small pocket-knife — a Congress 
knife, hj the way. As the operation did not require great 
delicacy of touch, I seized the unfortunate bird by the 
left leg, and attempted a lateral incision under the wing. 
Like some other great surgeon, my instrument broke , but 
happily the subject was already dead, and I escaped the 
mortification of suffering the victim to breathe her last in 
my hands. By this time the flavor of the virgin corpse 

had waked T to a sense of existence, and by our 

united efforts, a la Turk, not a bone was left unpicked, nor 
a drop of the grape unfathomed. 

We both again withdrew into sweet oblivion, and the 
scream of " Dejeuner !" this morning, was the first cause 
of recurring sense. Talk of a bivouac compared to a 
night in the diligence under such circumstances ! What 
a stupid place Chalons is ? They bring us in at 5 A. M., 
and then make us wait in a cold, smokey cafe until 7 
o'clock, for the boat. 

T is trying to warm himself by the light of a horrid 

tallow candle ! I wonder if Abelard was ever compelled 
to wait for Heloise under similar circumstances. It would 
have cooled his ardor. He died at the Abbey of St. Mar- 
cel, about two miles from this very Chalons. Could I 
Tvake his spirit from the dust of Paraclete, I would set him 
to reforming the means of travel on the Saone, instead of 
dallying with his pale-faced nun. There is one poor old 
woman who has come all the way from the neighborhood 
of Paris, to Chalons, to see her daughter, and returns again 
this evening. She tells me she is seventy-two years old, 
and is as merry as a cricket. Hpw she has borne the fa- 
tigue of her journey is astonishing. Who says the human 
liearfc doth wear itself out ? 



80 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

- ' 

LEAF XII. 

STEAMING ON THE SAONE. 

Lyons, 18 — . 
v/^ui" here after eight hours' steaming, in a tolerable boat, 
with a very uninteresting set of passengers. A priest mono- 
polized the best-looking woman, and an officer the only 
newspaper on board. I took two " dejeuners" in order to 
kill time, and had the additional satisfaction of finding 
plenty of mud and rain upon our arrival. The pleasures 
of traval began now to dawn upon us with increasing bril- 
liancy. Temper was below par, and patience out of ques- 
tion. An umbrella for two is, at the best of times, but a 
small allowance, — it becomes absurd when the rain is co- 
quettish, and plays with the wind. Of course there was 
no fiacre about. There never is when you really want one. 
Cloak in hand, I run the gauntlet through a line of por- 
ters, leaving T with the umbrella and luggage. Where 

was the Hotel des Ambassadeurs ? that was the question ! 
A moment of hesitation would have ruined me — I should 
have been surrounded by guides at a franc per head. With 
desperate energy I dashed along the quai, ancle deep in 
the delicious torrent, and too much blinded by the rain to 
navigate with certainty. I brought up against a soldier — 
fortunate for me had I tumbled him over. But it was only 
a shock of attention ; and he ordered me back until my 
baggage should be inspected. A stroke of lightning could 
not have been more mal-apropos. But obey was the word ; 
and I strolled leisurely back to see my linen and the little 
elegancies of the toilet blended in admirable confusion by 
a hard-hearted member of the customs. T was al- 



A VIEW IN LYONS. 81 



ready undergoing the agony, and we exchanged a sickly 
smile as our trunk executioner inquired if we carried any 
tobacco ! How soon the great democratic heart would 
break if such things were allowed at home ! The idea of 
asking two sons of America if they had any tobacco ! 
Here, salt and tobacco are the pets of the revenue. 

Wet and irritable we reached our hotel. Not even the 
smile of a bright eye, as I crossed the bridge, could ap- 
pease me. A bad dinner, and the prospect of starting at 
five in the morning, make the climax of aggravation. 

I will indulge in the historical, and look out upon the 
square where Cinq Mars and De Tkou suffered death. 
There also, the Guillotine, under Fouche, and Collet d'Her- 
bois, did its work — beautiful fruit of French license, mis- 
called liberty. Lyons was to be blotted out of existence 
by means of fusilades and itinerant guillotines, to gratify 
the spleen of an actor and the vengeance of a knave. 
Fouche & Co. certainly did a heavy business in blood 
during the French Revolution — and the wonder is that the 
arch-fiend was ever allowed to die in peace. But it seems 
to be always more secure in France to transact such affairs 
on a large scale. They have no mercy for awkwardness, 
impoliteness, and ordinary murderers. It is reserved for 
those who slay by the quantity, and with a certain finish 
of manner, which may be called the etiquette of atrocity — 
the beau ideal of slaughter — the decencies of crime. It 
seems to be their greatest characteristic to preserve the 
outward formula of propriety in all circumstances. Your 
grisette would no more commit suicide with a shabby wea- 
pon, or in an undress, than she would live constant : and 
should a Frenchman accidentally stab his father with a 
table-knife, his greatest regret would be that it was not a 
poignard. 



82 WILD OATS; SOWN ABROAD. 

Ayignon, 18 — . 

I have frequently travelled in steamboats ; but my 
descent of the Rhone in the Sirius rather surpasses my 
former experience. We started from Lyons — that is to 
say, we attempted to start — at five o'clock A. M., but were 
some three quarters of an hour getting under way, amidst 
the most infernal din imaginable. We had scarcely gone 
three miles before we were aground. There was a general 
rush for the deck. Fortunately we numbered only six 
passengers, and nobody was crushed to death. There was 
little satisfaction to be gained on deck. It was barely 
light enough to show the confusion into which the anti- 
marine Frenchmen had been thrown by the disaster. 
The whole crew, amounting to six men, with the steward, 
were standing on a plank which ran from one wheel-house 
to the other, and were holding on to a huge pole, which I 
afterwards discovered was the handle of the rudder. The 
captain stood amidships, on a stool, cursing the engineer 
in most villanous French, while the latter raised his head 
iabove the hold, in order to reply more conveniently and 
efiScaciously. In the meantime the pilot, at the bow, was 
completely overwhelmed by the torrent of advice flowing 
from the six screaming steersmen, and roared like a luna- 
tic. In the very height of this war of orders, the machi- 
nery began to act " per se," as it were, and off moved the 
boat with a short, grating sound. The crisis was passed — 
each of the actors claimed a victory, which neither had 
achieved, and we left them wrangling about it to get some 
information out of the steward. He was a poor devil — 
said he had never been in a steamboat before — and would 
never go again. We ascertained, at last, that this was 
the first trip of a new company founded upon the bank- 
ruptcy of the old. 

Pleasant business ! After steamins; from five in the morn- 



AVIGNON — PETRARCH AND LAURA. 83 

ing till five in the evening, — at which time we were to have 
arrived at Avignon, — the captain very deliberately landed 
at a sort of wharf without a solitary house in view, and 
told us he should not be able to proceed further until next 
morning, as the river was too low. But how was the 
height to increase over night, without rain ? — that was a 
query he disdained to answer. There we were : no village 
— no accommodation on the boat — and what was worse, 
nothing to eat ; — besides this, the water, from the leak of 
the morning disaster, had already penetrated the cabin, 
and there was a prospect of the boat quietly sinking at 
the wharf. After a hasty debate on the "ways and 
means," we all started off for the nearest town some few 
miles distant. This proved only a change of evils ; and 
after a slight taste of the cuisine, and a sight of the cham- 
bers, we agreed to return to our flag, and with the assist- 
ance of some fresh eggs, and our crest-fallen steward, 
"survive or perish." We did survive the night — some on 
carpet-bags, and others in extempore hammocks, swung 
among the chains. One talkative Frenchmau argued him- 
self to sleep upon the merits of Ricord's system of treat- 
ment. 

Next morning we floated down the Rhone with our shat- 
tered bark, by St. Peray, where grows the delicious wine, 
and by the Chateau Grignan, where Madame de Sevigne 
lived and died ; on by Orange to Avignon. And right 
glad was I to see this old seat of revelry. But one's trou- 
bles were not yet over. The porters of Avignon are 
w^orld-famous, and we prepared to give them battle. Most 
unequal contest ! Two trujiks and a carpet-bag, backed 
by a cane and hatred to imposition, versus the whole 
blackguard population of a town. Talk of Saragossa, or 
the storming of Badajoz ! In a council of war, it was 
unanimously agreed to resist all demands beyond five 
francs for the porterage, to the death. The boat landed 



84 WILD OATSj SOWN ABROAD. 

some distance from the town. The shore was crowded 
with the enemy : on they rushed, like Cossacks to the 
spoils 1 

" Ten francs ! ten francs !" was the cry. 

" Won't give more than five !" was the counter salute. 

The combat thickened : — we were attacked in front, 
flank, and rear. The carpet-bag was carried by a " coup 
de main ;" the white trunk surrendered after a spirited 
resistance. This caused a division of our forces, the 
respective owners following their conquered luggage, like 
so many captives. Still the struggle raged. We deter- 
mined to make it one Thermopylse — but, alas, the strap 
of our principal trunk gave way, and we were finally de- 
feated, with the loss of five francs and an indefinite 
amount of temper. Oh ! ye victorious porters of Avignon, 
had I but my college trunk, what a difi*erent story would 
my annals tell ! But who can make a successful stand 
with such pasteboard things as these ? 

This Hotel de I'Europe is certainly one of the best in 
France. What capital fried potatoes — and then the spark- 
ling St. Peray ! After a hearty dejeuner, we sallied forth 
to see the Papal palace. It is remarkable for nothing but 
its immensity — a heap of irregular, massive walls, with 
lofty towers, at least 150 feet high. It is now a barrack. 
Within its walls was passed the Babylonish Captivity — a 
period of seventy years — a succession of seven popes. It 
also held Petrarch as a guest, and Bienzi as a prisoner. 
The papal throne is still preserved, and the balcony from 
which the benediction was pronounced. The tomb of 
Laura has disappeared, and her ashes have sufi*ered equally 
with her reputation. 

I shall not go to Vaucluse. Firstly — because I am no 
admirer of Petrarch : — and secondly — it is too stormy. 
The wind rages about that old papal reminiscence as if the 
Spirit of Ca:sar Borgia posseiiscd it. What a set of luxu- 



OUR FIRST Euiisr. 85 



rious scoundrels those Avignon Popes were ! Earthly 
sovereigns and heavenly viceroys, with a court whose 
profligacy stands unrivalled in the records of debauch. 
What a lesson to mankind of the power and abuse of spiri- 
tual despotism ! Will they profit by it ? I think not. 



LEAF XIII. 
AVIGNON, NISMES, AND ARLES. 

Marseilles, 18 — ■. 

On our journey from Avignon to Nismes we had the 
benefit of a very clever snow storm, which prevented our 
seeing the Pont de Gard ; it, however, cleared up very 
beautifully as we entered the town. Here commenced the 
first real labor of sight-seeing. There was an immense 
Eoman amphitheatre to be clambered over — a Roman foun- 
tain to be inspected — and judgment to be passed upon the 
famous Maison Carree. We set out early in the morning 
to our task. It was my first lesson in taste. In my 
opinion there is as much study required to appreciate 
ruins as there is in the acquisition of a language. That 
much abused word "picturesque," is supposed to be the 
all-sufiicient in the composition of decay ; and the intelli- 
gence necessary to build up the lost fabric is considered 
entirely superfluous. One stands by the side of a half shat- 
tered edifice, ignorant of its architecture, and indifi'erently 
versed in its era and history — an even more ignorant 
guide will babble of its uses, and the thousand probabili- 
ties, which his continued repetition has reduced to facts. 

Does it please the eye we pronounce it beautiful, and 
are satisfied ; has it the stoop of age— the melancholy 

8 



86 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

shroud of ivy — we call it "picturesque;" — do we wish for 
information, we consult Murray. If I were asked for a 
receipt to make an amateur, I should prescribe one-third 
Murray to a full dose of brass. Such a man would become 
an oracle. I do remember in my younger days, to have 
studied architecture ; but I must confess there remains, 
at this moment, with me a very contemptible knowledge 
of its origin, and its different gradations to perfection. 

I admire the Maison Carree, and take it for granted 
that the proportions are faultless ; but, at the same time, I 
feel certain of having no fixed rule to graduate its merits, 
and therefore take no interest in a critical examination. I 
must use it for the present as a mere instructor — a creator 
and fashioner of a correct taste. 

The Amphitheatre is a perfect fac-simile of my ideal — a 
vast oval, with stone seats reaching from near its centre to 
its outer rim, step after step, to a dizzy height, and look- 
ing like a conqueror of ages. Arch upon arch, in beauti- 
ful regularity, supports the huge fabric. Nothing could 
be more grand and imposing than this simple array of • 
seats. 

In the Maison Carree is a collection of paintings, one 
of which struck me forcibly — it is Cromwell by the dead 
body of Charles, by Le Roche. He has just raised the lid 
of the coffin, and stands contemplating his victim. It is 
life-like, and one pauses involuntarily lest one's approach 
should startle the usurper from his fearless meditation. 
The costume is exact ; and the contrast between the wan, 
cold face of the Stuart, and the calm yet thoughtful — the 
stea^n, yet not remorseless — gaze of Cromwell, is admira- 
ble ; it is successful ambition at the goal of its hopes, yet 
not unmoved at the mournful traces of its triumphs. It 
made such a strong impression upon me, that I began to 
doubt the historical truth of the assertion that Cromwell 
did visit the corpse, and I could scarcely bring myself to 



AN UNCONSCIOUS BLESSING. 87 

believe that even the iron-hearted Cromwell would dare to 
seek such a scene alone, at the dead of night. My nerves 
are not weak, but I should most assuredly have absented 
myself from Whitehall under the peculiar circumstances. 
From Nismes to Aries we had part railroad, part coach. 

T , thinking he w^as still in Germany, took our seats in 

what was called the wagon. When the bell rang and the 
gates opened, we moved under a weight of cloaks and 
other appurtenances of travel, towards the train. The 
conductor pointed out our locality — and, heaven knows ! 
it was a wagon sure enough, without top or seats. The 
steam began to fizz and we began to fret. Could not 
think of travelling in that affair — the conductor refused to 
admit us into the regular cars, because we had not the 
necessary ticket — would not hear of our paying the differ- 
ence to him — must go back to the office. The train 
showed symptoms of moving off — no other chance for 
Aries that day — should also miss the Marseilles diligence. 
Affairs grew desperate. I was about to seize the con- 
ductor by the nape of the neck, when the office clerk came 
along, and we had just time to bundle in, bag and bag- 
gage, as the inexorable engine started. I employed most 
of the time to Beaucaire in a Billingsgate assault upon the 
conductor ; but he was fireproof, and had, besides, the 
hardihood to assert that I spoke bad French. My con- 
science would not allow me to dispute that. 

At Aries we got a miserable dinner — a misfortune which 
I tried to remedy by seeking a dessert in the market 
place. It was a lucky hit, for I met as angelic a face as 
ever woke the minstrelsy of Heaven. It banished hunger, 
weariness, and vexation, and while the unconscious crea- 
ture turned to say her prayers in the Cathedral, she little 
imagined she had already blessed a fellow being, and 
deserved thanks instead of bestowing them. So much for 



88 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

the unknown benefits we sometimes lavish unawares ! Per- 
haps we redeem our errors in some such manner. Deli- 
cious doctrine ! Seriously, it is no small blessing to finish 
one's dinner with the music of a lovely face-tune. It 
requires a great delicacy of appetite to appreciate the 
boon, and i will not assert that it could be all-sufficient for 
an entire meal ; still it goes a great way, and I have my- 
self noticed that there is a slighter consumption of food in 
dining with a pretty woman than with an ugly one — always 
excepting the oyster dish, which should never be slighted, 
even in the presence of beauty. 

Our diligence for Marseilles was a loose, rickety old 
machine ; the cushions were hard, and the windows any 
thing but air-tight ; the mistral, too — ^^a mixture of all the 
infernal breath of boreas — was blowing terribly, and giving 
us no favorable impression of the much vaunted climate of 
the South of France. We did not get to Marseilles until 
five in the morning. Like a sensible man, I immediately 
crept into bed, and nothing but a most pressing appetite 
had the slighest influence in getting me out again. 

I don't like Marseilles. It is a dirty, active, commer- 
cial town, with an innumerable quantity of ugly women, 
rowdy sailors, noisy Savoyards, and brawling politicians. 
The opera is wretched : but then the national song w^as 
born here: '' glory enough," as the Sage of Lindenwald 
observed. 

Nice, 18—. 
A French " dejeuner a la fourchette" is usually a great 
luxury, but especially so when it follows in the wake of a 
bjld dinner and a tedious night-ride. I can scarcely real- 
ize the change. But a few hours ago, and my philosophy 
was wrecked, my body a prey to cold and famine, and my 
very identity a question; — and now my humanity could 



A CRASH AND A WRECK. 89 

embrace creation, and my content be the envy of kings. 
The very sun that plays upon my carpet, the air that idles 
'mid these orange groves, is not more indifferent to the 
fate of to-morrow than myself. And what is the great 
cause of this languid satisfaction ? Fried potatoes and a 
bottle of Beaune ! Smile not, ye imitators of Lucullus — ■ 
" Tall oaks from little acorns grow." The annoyances of 
travel are great ; but then one has small glimpses of para- 
dise occasionally. Now look at this garden my window 
opens upon — profuse in exotics, with the pomegranate and 
the orange in full bloom ; feel this summer air, that comes 
so balmy from the bosom of the Mediterranean ; inhale the 
fragrance of that jessamine and clematis, creeping so socia- 
bly into my very chamber ; gaze upon the English girl, 
with her wavy hair, pretending to read in that arbor— and 
tell me if there is not a feeling of happiness, a quiet enjoy- 
ment, a negative kind of pshaw ! there is no real plea- 
sure in creation — it is all "leather and prunella," a sort 
of comparative a,bsence of misery. I am deceived by 
contrast with last night. 

That diligence conductor ! Would to heaven the mip- 
str|l had blown him from the top of the Appenines ! He 
brought us to the gates of Toulon at four o'clock in the 
morning ; there we had to sit and wait until 5- — the hour 
for opening these nonsensical fortifications — with the wind 
howling around us like a madman, and our teeth chatter- 
ing ridiculously. When we did get into the town at last, 
here was a delay of two hours before setting out for Nice. 

Not a cafe open I T and myself strolled towards the 

dock, and were met with the "qui vive" of a sentinel. 
We turned back, and by dint of hands and feet aroused 
the inmates of the cafe. A bad " bavoiroise" was the 
only result — better than nothing; 

At 7 we got started again, and reached Draguignan at 

8* 



90 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

5 P. M. Here we were fed most wretchedly ; but then 
there was comfort in the prospect of getting to Nice by 7 
next morning. Seven o'clock came — but no Nice. I was 
hungry as a wolf, had slept poorly, and the air came with 
a chilling salutation from the sea. On we drove, through 
olive groves, with an occasional glance of the Mediterra- 
nean, on which the morning sun was shining gloriously ; 
but I had no eye for .the beautiful just then, and my only 
approach to pleasure was in waking the conductor every 
half hour to inquire the distance to Nice. The villain 
sank into slumber again with the ease of a negro. What 
did he care for our sufferings ? Had I been the Autocrat, 
Siberia should have been his least punishment. 

Eight — nine — ten o'clock, and Nice came at last into 
sight. The' worst was over ! No, not yet — the unqualified 
scoundrel drove us under the scaffolding of a house just 
being erected ; one of the logs scraped the top of our ve- 
hicle. Crash ! went something to the earth. I felt a pre- 
sentiment of evil. I looked out of the window, and beheld, 
oh, fate ! the " mangled remains" of my trunk and a small 
wine cask, to which the shock of the fall had communi- 
cated an unseasonable " flow of spirits." The red juice 
of its bacchanal profusion was fast reaching my wardrobe. 
I smiled sweeter than patience ever did at grief. There 
could be nothing beyond this but destruction, and I was 
resigned. The Christian conquered the man. With the 
dignity of Hamlet's ghost, I pointed to the wreck of all 
my worldly goods, and requested, in the softest voice ima- 
ginable, to have the corpse carried with care to my hotel. 
Upon the conductor I disdained to look — the expense of 
striking a man being five hundred francs and upwards. 
But now I forgive the wretch : I could even sign a peti- 
tion for his promotion. 



THE RAIL ROAD OF LIFE. 91 



LEAF XIY. 

NICE REFLECTIONS. 

Nice, 18—. 
!N'iCE is full of English, consumptives, and .orange trees. 
The climate may be very beneficial to invalids, but it 
strikes me as being too variable. Here and there may be 
a sheltered nook, alike free from wind and cold : but the 
presence of so many cloaks under a burning sun, proves 
the change which his withdrawal creates. You pass fre- 
quently from a tropic to a frigid by merely turning a corner, 
and the wind often gives chilling evidence of its presence. 
It matters little, however, where the physician sends you 
to die, for he never advises the change until death has en- 
dorsed your passport. The grave-yard here affords as 
comfortable accommodations as most places. The sexton 
is a " very nice sort of person," and would see one pro- 
perly stowed away. It is very melancholy to observe 
these hasty candidates for Eternity gliding about— it 
makes one feel so insecure ; though life be but a cloud-em- 
brace, still we don't like to leave in the early train. It is 
one of the few expeditions we don't want to start upon, and 
the last bell finds us quite as unprepared as ever, though 
we have not a particle of baggage to attend to. The con- 
ductor is inexorable, and wants his complement. The om- 
nibus is there, and one must go at last. Death's invitation 
is a horrid nervous sort of thing — worse than putting on a 
new hat and going into company. What an absurd idea 
of the ancients, to have Charon with only one boat, to 
row us across the Styx ! Why, it would be another small 
life-time before one's turn came ! The march of intellect 



92 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

lias been at work there, too, and we probably go by rail 
now at proportionate periods : 1st train for the victims of 
accident ; 2d, consumptives ; Sd, mixed ; and, lastly, the 
stragglers who hold back longest with the aid of absti- 
nence and devotion. Whether they have separate cars 
for the women is a question. 

Genoa, 18 — . 

We have now been five days in " Genova la Superba." 
Rather too long a stay ; but there is no boat, and the land 
journey to Leghorn is too fatiguing. There is not much 
to interest me here. I have admired the beautiful position 
of the town from all sides — the magnificent street of 
palaces — the Saracenic cathedral, and the home of the 
great Dorial I have heard the enrapturing " II Lom- 
bardi" of the new composer, Yerdi, and seen the brilliant 
eyes of the Marquisi B . 

As a general thing, the Genoese are not pretty. Their 
costume is captivating in the extreme. The loose veil 
thrown over the head adds greatly to this appearance. They 
walk well, too, and look picturesque when kneeling in the 
dim light of their churches. I find myself really in Italy. 
I asked the maitre d'hotel where the assignations were 
made. ''Go to church," says he; ''you won't be long 
finding out." 

This sounded Italian ; but my stock of the bastard Latin 
was too limited to take advantage of such opportunity. 

The streets of Genoa, with one or two exceptions, are 
very narrow and very crooked. It would be an easy 
matter to jump from one window to the other, and the 
houses on each side are so high that you see but a small 
patch of Heaven between. The palaces in the Strada Nuova 
are superb. They seemed formed to laugh at time. What 
a glorious place this must have been in the days of its 
pride ! When all this silent and decaying splendor had 3 



A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 93 

soul — when the princely Dorias ruled over land and sea, 
and the light of incessant revelry flashed along these 
marble walls ! I could not help thinking of Genoa's 
faded glory as I stood last night in the ball-room amid the 
remnants of her own proud nobility. The inmates of 
these lofty palaces, too poor to light their festive fires, 
were content to sport the diamonds of generations in the 
foyer of a theatre ! And yet they waltzed and laughed as 
joyously as though their ancestral halls were still the scene 
of their gaiety. True Philosophy ! 

That ball was a pleasant aliair ! Those soft bewildering 

eyes of the Marquisi B haunt me still. I should like 

to wear her chain — say one little month — she looks so se- 
ductive — nonsense ! she is a mere coquette : I saw her 
give that very identical gaze of invitation, which sent me 
to Heaven, to a bald-headed Englishman — here was the 
sting — I will not give her another thought ; still she is 
deuced nice for all that. Had an adventure the other eve- 
ning, or what should have been an adventure. I started out 
to take a cruise with a Frenchman, who came with us from 
Nice. He seems to be a dealer in soap — at least he had 
a deuce of a row with the custom house officer as we crossed 
the border on account of some French soap which he called 
mere samples, but which the lord of the customs pro- 
nounced subject to duty. Monsieur protested — threatened 
the vengeance of the King : the searcher of trunks was 
immoveable, and insisted upon the payment of ten francs at 
least. No use in resisting, so the money was paid ; as I 
condoled with the unfortunate man of soap, he showed 
some gratitude, and volunteered to accompany me as cice- 
rone in my nocturnal prank. I had not determined upon 
the precise nature of our pursuit, but intended to be guided 
by circumstances. Yf e had hardly reached the square in 
front of the Exchange, v^dien an offer from one of those 



94 WILD OATS^ SOWN ABROAD. 

amorous brokers, who frequent tliat spot, greeted us — 
"What kind of a demoiselle," says I, — " Is she a native, 
has she the true Doria stamp?" "If jour excellencies 
will only come with me I will show you a beauty, a mar- 
quisi," — " lead on !" says my guide, and away we went in 
the wake of the mercantile Cupid. He could not have 
been more than ten years of age — and I fervently hoped 
he might one day receive the benefit of Sunday School in- 
struction — -just at that moment he was a part of my sys- 
tem of amusement. He led us up one alley and down 
another, through a perfect labyrinth of passages; the 
Frenchman got alarmed, and talked of retreating ; as this 
word is not in my vocabulary, I left him, and continued 
the hunt close upon the heels of the boy. He stopped 
soon after before the entrance of a high antique-looking 
house — the interior was dark as Erebus, but then I ima- 
gined the Marquisi's eyes were bright enough to dispense 
with gas ; as a precautionary measure I took hold of the 
boy's coat tail, and gave the order to proceed ; up we 
mounted — step after step — there seemed to be no end to 
the distance — it reminded me of St. Paul's; he paused at' 
last in the middle of an entry, and told me to wait a mo- 
ment until he announced my approach to the Aspasia of 
the establishment. I hesitated, but finally released my 
hold upon the coat , he disappeared in the surrounding 
darkness, and there I was in a narrow passage, black as 
midnight, ignorant of the position of the stairs, and unable 
to advance or recede without danger to my neck ; I had no 
weapon on my person, and no faith in the police. Trap- 
doors and assassins flitted before my eyes, and the value 
of my purse and watch increased tenfold. I thought of 
Florimel in the Inconstant. Then the idea of being mur- 
dered in a low bawdy house — pardon me unknown mar- 
quisi ! — ^^yithout the satisfaction of filling a respectable 



"the gods take care of cato." 95 

paragraph in the newspapers was insuiferable — what would 
the world say ? — the victim of curiosity and adventure 
would be pronounced a "bad young man," and my poor 
shattered reputation would be carried about piecemeal in 
the pockets of the different Mrs. Candours of my acquaint- 
ance. At this stage of my reflections I heard some one 
groping his way stealthily towards me — my ears were sen- 
sitive to the slightest noise, and the sound of a velvet foot 
would not have escaped them — near and more near came 
the fancied murderer — now or never— I rushed forward and 
threw myself upon the opposing foe — my " prophetic soul" 
was wrong — it was only Cupid returning to announce that 
Aspasia was engaged with some happier Pericles, and I 
turned to seek the Hotel Feder, perfectly satisfied with the 
result. The Frenchman received me with open arms, re- 
garding it as a special resurrection — " The gods take care 
of Cato" — but the next time I visit the haunts of love it 
shall be with a " bare bodkin" at least. I idolize excite- 
ment — but there is no sense in playing the Leander on 
shore, and disappearing in some Italian mud-puddle. 

The churches begin to give evidence of the former 
wealth and superstition of Roman Catholicism. To the 
bare walls and Gothic chastity of the North, have suc- 
ceeded the rich abundance of Southern ornament and the 
luxurious outlay of Southern profusion. Spiritual influ- 
ence stands embodied here in all its pomp. Shrines of 
untold cost — pillars of the rarest stone — walls encased in 
marble — gilt altars and frescoed ceilings — all attest the 
enthusiasm of devotion; the influence of priestly power 
and Papal veneration. Step into the cathedral at what 
hour you will, some penitent is kneeling — some mass is 
saying — some vesper pealing. Turn to the other chapels on 
your route, the same scene presents itself: one crowd of 
devotees follows another in successive prayer, and were it 



96 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

not for the wicked glance of some frail worshipper, as she 
tells her rosary, one might suppose the Genoese world 
thought but of Heaven. Breathed but comprehended not 
is their fervent orison, and the moral light of Godhead 
streams as dimly on their vision as the dying rays of the 
sun fall upon the deep fret-work — the faded picturing and 
the hidden sculpture of their solemn cathedral. 

Leghorn, — . 
This Thompson's Hotel is a forlorn aiFair — Murray's 
recommendation to the contrary notwithstanding. Dirty 
linen and bad attendance are the acme of worthlessness. 
Thank fortune ! it won't last long ! We came from 
Genoa in the steamer "Ocean," and such a steamer! 
Eight berths to about forty passengers. Most of 
those she had brought from Marseilles left her, as 
unseaworthy, upon their arrival at Genoa ; but we were 
too anxious to get off to regard that circumstance. Her 
machinery moved with a sort of spasmodic effort, and I ex- 
pected every moment to see it expire. The piston rod had 
such a languishing manner that I could easily have written 
my name upon it before its return to the cylinder, had 
I not feared the increased pressure of the pencil might 
stop its movement altogether. But the night was clear, 
and the sea calm as a stoic. The berthless parties lay 
strewed about on the coffee-bags and canvas that crowded 
the deck. I took up a position near the boiler, with the 
two-fold prospect of warmth and short-work, in case of 
explosion. But an explosion is an unknown experiment, 
as I afterwards learned. There was quite a pretty young 
French girl shared my coffee-bag ; but a sharp attack of 
sea-sickness destroyed the effect of some trifling amiabili- 
ties which I had bestowed upon her. Neptune was too 
powerful a rival for me to vie with, so I handed her over 



THE TRIUMPHS OF NEPTUNE. 97 

to his attention. Her sisters soon followed suit, and it was 
ludicrous to see the despair which seized upon the camp at 
the approach of this marine assault. Thej had crouched 
amidships, surrounded with blankets and sheets, like a Gipsy 
party. Anon they rose and stalked about like phantoms 
in their unearthly shrouds. Another moment, and they 
stood in admirable disorder along the balustrade of the 
steamer, gazing into the sea. The agony had come. What 
to them was the " deeply, darkly, beautiful blue ?" — what the 
pale stars and the unwritten poetry of the Ideal ? — the 
music of the mermaid and the love inciting breath of the 
pure Heaven? Nothing. Their whole existence was nar- 
rowed down to a horrid something indicated by no equivo- 
cal position of jthe hand. Yes ! it was a reality ! The 
things of yesterday and to-day were before their eyes — 
"relics of joy" — fleeting and painful. 
* What a damnable nuisance the liver is ! The morning 
sun shone gaily on the pale faces of our Gipsy party as 
we rode into the dock. Here we had to wait one hour 
for a clean bill of health before we could land, assailed 
all the time by a host of boatmen. Our permit came, 
and we jumped into the nearest boat. In it was the 
Marquisi Seatti, a gay, vicious-looking Milanese, with a 
husband twice as old as herself, and ugly as a tallow- 
candle. On our way to shore, T — — - and myself indulged 
in sundry English remarks on the beauty of the wife and 
the hideousness of the owner. Methought the Marquisi's 
eyes sparkled as her hand played with the water of the 
bay. But there was no time for close observation, as the 
land-sharks were already upon us, and our luggage cap- 
tured. I resigned myself to fate, and followed to the 
hotel, paid exorbitantly, and have since discovered that 
our boat should have landed us at the very door. 

We are progressing rapidly in our knowledge of tricks 
G 9 



98 WILD OATS;, SOWN ABROAD. 



upon travellers. Nothing like experience ! We went to 
a mask ball, given the evening of our arrival. It was a 
slim affair — few maskers, but plenty of spectators. The 
girls in the boxes were handsome — a compound of Jew 
and Italian. There was very little dancing. Most of the 
parties seemed satisfied with promenading about and loll- 
ing in the balcony. They must have a poor idea of real 
bal masque. 

In the public square I saw, for the first time, an 
itinerant vender of elixirs, a regular Dulcemara. He 
was standing in an open barouche, and haranguing 
the crowd upon the merits of a plaster which he held 
in his hand. A more fluent orator never addressed 
a mass meeting. It was astonishing %hat an effect 
he produced. I could not understand his language, 
but his gesture was- inimitable. At the close, many 
purchasers advanced, fully persuaded of the unfailing 
sanitary power of the preparation. The quack himself 
was an oddity. A real Italian face, with a shabby, 
hat and a tremendous shirt collar, which served as 
a sort of barricade to a heavy pair of whiskers, and 
contrasted strongly with a rose-tinted nose, which threat- 
ened explosion to any powder magazine within firing 
distance. Such florid characters are not found out of 
Italy. She certainly has the honor of producing the 
most perfect specimen of vagabond in creation. There 
must be something in the soil — or is it the Pope? Poor 
"Italia!" verily, thy "dower is present woe!" Thou 
hast quaffed deeply of the cup of conquest, and 
played the spoiler till the very earth grew weary of 
thy ponderous weight, and now art thou partitioned 
out like old stray trinkets among the vandal dynasties 
thou didst quicken into life. Thy people have scarcely 
a national character left, and strangjers do stare at thee 



THE MARQUISl'S FOOT ! 99 

through tlieir " eye-glasses," and wonder oyer the frag- 
ments of thy still regal toilet. 

T talks of changing his route, and going through 

Pisa to Florence. I am sorry, but cannot help it. My 
way leads along the shore of the Mediterranean. Our 
passports begin to grow troublesome and expensive. They 
are only intended as a support for government loafers. I 
forgot to visit the tomb of Smollet. Must attend to that 
in the morning. Oh ! the toil of travel. 



LEAF XY. 
ARRIVAL AT NAPLES. 

Hotel New York, Naples. 

Here have we "pitched our tent" for at least three 
weeks — long enough for a good breathing spell. Our 
quarters are comfortable — terms reasonable. My window 
looks out upon the world-renowned bay, with Ischia and 
Vesuvius in the distance. The landlord talks English, 
and altogether I promise myself a pleasant sojourn. 

Our trip from Leghorn was much more satisfactory than 
our previous experience had led us to expect. We had a 
good steamer and an excellent captain. The first object 
that saluted me as I touched the dock, was the roguish 
eyes of the Marchesi Seatti. There was a singular in- 
telligence in their glance, — not disguised during the 
course of my English remarks with T at the dinner- 
table, and it was afterwards explained by Captain Olive 
informing me that the Marquisi spoke English as well as 



100 WILD OATS^ SOWN ABROAD. 



I did ; but, very fortunately for me, her husband was 
unacquainted with the language, or ^^ pistols and coffee" 
might have been requisite. Had I been at all doubtful of 
this fact, it would have been confirmed by the decided per- 
tinacity Y^ith which she always exhibited her foot after my 
remarking to T , as she stepped into the boat at Leg- 
horn, that it would be an excusable adoration to kiss the 
Pope's foot, if it was any thing like the Marquisi's. She 
left us at Civita Yecchia, and as I raised my hat to return 
her flattering bow, a smile of mischievous sweetness played 
•upon her face ; she had overreached me, but if we ever 
meet again, I will pay her back with interest. She is vfel- 
come to my opinion, and if there is any truth in eyes, she 
did not dissent from my estimate of her own and her hus- 
band's qualities. I must be more careful hereafter. 

The sea became very rough as we left the harbor of 
Civita Vecchia, and they took advantage of it to give us 
our dinner. Bather a thin table. T— — could scarcely 
conceal his emotion at sight of the soup, and retired to his , 
sofa. I survived three courses, but found fresh air indis- 
pensable, so mounted upon deck. Here I found fast- 
coming darkness and a pretty stifi* breeze. The excite- 
ment revived me some, and Captain Olive came finally to 
the rescue, took me into his own cabin, and over his 
stories, flavored with good brandy and water, I soon forgot 
the demon. There we sat, until near midnight, dwelHng 
upon the beauty of women and steam. 

When I returned to the cabin, I found an impudent 
Frenchman occupying the spot allotted to me. It was a 
shelf close to the stern-lights. It was bad enough to have 
no berth or sofa at all, but it became insufferable when 
your only miserable place of refuge was invaded in this 
manner. My brandy potations had been too deep to par- 
ley long, so I woke the steward, and asked him if platform 
No. TO belon2;ed to me. 



BEAUTIES OP NAPLES' BAY. 101 

" "Undoubtedly," says he. 

»" Then go and summon that Frenchman to descend." 

The steward obeyed. But Monsieur did not feel the 
force of his remarks, nor the justice of my claim, and 
merely grumbled out a positive refusal. This was suffi- 
cient — equal to a declaration of war. I mounted the plat- 
form, seized the croaking sleeper by his woolen night-cap 
— it was his weak point ! 

He screamed out, ''Doucement — doucement. Monsieur!" 
(gently — gently, sir ;) and was on the floor of the cabin 
before I had time to finish the demonstration. 

He muttered something like "Quelle fureur!" (what 
excitement,) and started to play the porcupine some place 
else, while I climbed into the vacated throne, and dreamed 
of Marchesi Seatti. 

We entered the bay of Naples some three hours after 
sunrise. It was a delightful morning. The sea had 
calmed, and whole fleets of fishing craft lay scattered 
around us. The approach to Naples, though extrava- 
gantly extolled, deserves all the praise bestowed upon it. 

It bears no similarity whatever to New York Bay. 
They are as different in their respective beauties, as land 
and water well can be. Both have their claims, and it is 
a difficult matter to decide to which the preference belongs. 
The accessories here are certainly great additions to its 
beauty. There is Baiai, St. Elmo, Vesuvius,' Castelemare, 
Salerno, the islands Ischia and Capri; each in themselves 
would establish the scenic reputation of any localit3^ 
What then must be their effect in combination ? For my 
part, cold as my eye is to the beauties of inanimate nature, 
I can sit by the hour and look out upon this enchanting 
scene. Whether it is the languid influence of the climate 
or a new sense before undeveloped, I know not ; but cer- 
tain it is I feel no more that wearisome ennui of idleness-, 

9* 



102 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



and time flies as rapidly in my objectless occupation, as it 
would in the hour of active pleasure. 

I have become a real dreamer. From the life and 
bustle of the Via Toledo, I find myself turning to the 
quiet ■walks of the Villa Reale, to watch the tideless flow 
of the Mediterranean. I am not in love. Therefore it 
must be the climate that has produced this revolution in 
my temperament. This it is makes the lazzaroni the child 
of nobody — who does nothing — lives on nothing. The 
climate is his creator and support. He is a being as dis- 
tinctly separated from his fellow-citizens in feelings, habits, 
and inclinations, as the terrapin is from the fish. He 
holds about the same rank in the social system that the 
oyster does in the animal kingdom ; and if only the 
Almighty had endowed him with a shell to crawl into at 
certain seasons, the lazzaroni would be the most fortunate 
of creatures. As it is, he consoles himself with lodging 
in a fish-basket during the summer, and disappears like 
the swallow in winter. This mode of life has its advan-. 
tages : family cares, family loves, and family quarrels, are 
alike unknown to him ; and when you see the little lazza- 
roni crawling about like a mud turtle on a log, you take it 
for granted he is a spontaneous growth, not to be recog- 
nized by the census ; he costs the government nothing, 
and his parental claims are more visionary than the profits 
of the South Sea Company. In this respect the lazzaroni 
is excessively fashionable. It would be a positive vulga- 
rity to recognise his offspring. He. gives the brat an 
existence, and casts him into the market-place, as though 
he was hurling a planet into its orbit. Instinct and cli- 
mate do the rest. The infant lazzaroni expands into a 
red cap and a piece of blanket ; he is then fit for society, 
and becomes a frequenter of the Mole. When not in a 
state of torpidity, he is either being amused at the ha- 



"natural history of the lazzaroni," 103 



ra^ngue of the improvisatore, or playing sentinel over a 
stem of old segar stumps, paraded before him like soldiers, 
upon brown paper. These figments of tobacco are his 
real estate : hence bis income, and woe betide that minis- 
ter who would dare to tax it. It keeps all his ingenuity 
alive to prevent the encroachments of his fellow lazzaroni 
upon his stock. I have seen the title to one-sixteenth of a 
segar stump disputed Vfith as much ability as the Girard will 
case ; and invariably during the course of the argument, 
the subject matter would disappear most mysteriously. 

When a lazzaroni once reaches the rental of a terni per 
day, — which is about a half-cent, — he becomes a capitalist, 
and, were they a business community, would be quoted on 
'change. It is a great mistake to suppose that the lazza- 
roni is a consumer of maccaroni; that is a delicacy far 
beyond his means, and it is only after ransacking the 
pocket of some stranger, and disposing of the spoil, that he 
indulges in any extravagance of that kind. Melon is his 
principal article of food, and this only after it has passed 
through first hands. You will always find him lying in 
wait lOY a dinner at the melon merchants, and the half- 
eaten particle passes out of your hands to run the gauntlet 
through a row of hungry applicants, until it degenerates 
into the smallest possible piece of rind, which is magnani- 
mously left in the street for the chiffonnier to gather up. 
When the lazzaroni wears out — for he never dies — they 
drop him into the Campo Santo, wardrobe and all, without 
the formality of a dirge or the discord of a will. Your 
Diogenes was a fool compared to these fellows. He was 
an inferior sort of ancient lazzaroni, and yet the world 
calls him a philosopher par excellence, while a thousand 
real philosophers doze unnoticed along that sunny market- 
place ; but things are changed, and what once was honored 
as splendid stoicism, this active age calls shameless indo- 



104 WILD OATS^ W\Vls ABROAD, 

lence. The police don't allow men to live in tubs now-a- 
days. It would be evading the house-tax, and any eccen- 
tric character who might be found running about with a 
"Lantern," would be indicted for burglarious intent. 



LEAF XVI. 

IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 

Hotel, 'New York, Naples. 

The last day of the Carnival here was not celebrated 
with much ardor ; the rain interfered with the frolic, and, 
after one or two turns in the Via Toleda, the maskers 
retired. The San Carlos closed that night, — they gave us 
an opera and ballet. The theatre is immense, but badly 
lighted. It was crowded to suffocation. The ballet corps 
is one of the finest I have yet seen. The first daijseuse, 
without being an Ellsler, was a most graceful, captivating 
creature — and, strange to say, is called positively "sage." 
I am sorry that Lent has put a stop to the theatrical 
season. 

We went yesterday to the Musee Borbonico. The col- 
lection of paintings did not please me so much as I had 
anticipated. But the marbles are superb — I expect to see 
nothing finer at Rome or Florence. There is a draped 
Aristides beyond all praise. The ideal cannot conceive 
any thing more characteristic of the calm, proud, upright 
victim of popular frailty than is stamped upon those 
marble features. It is the very personification of conscious 
rectitude — half indignant — half lamenting the littleness of 
human nature. The hand is the only limb visible; and 



THE TRUE VENUS. 105 



the dignity of the attitude greatly enhanced by this com- 
plete folding of the person in the majesty of drapery. It 
looks so natural, yet is so unlike every-day apparel. The 
Flora is airiness itself, ■ although colossal. The famous 
group called "il Tauro Farnese" I could not exactly 
understand. Are they tying the woman to the bull ? or 
are they releasing her ? I have no classical dictionary 
with me, and have forgotten, if I ever knew the story. It 
is very spirited, and the sculptor who restored the bull's 
head deserves a monument. The Farnese Hercules stands 
in the same room with '' II Tauro." The great skill of the 
ancient sculptor is apparent in this statue. What under 
other hands must have become a mere clumsy mass of 
muscles, presents here the finest combination of natural 
proportion and evident strength, not the impression of 
mere size — but real beauty of shape and ease of limb. 
Among a* host of Venuses is the Yenus Callipyge — she 
who successfully disputes the pretensions of the Medici, — 
and a sweet creation she is ! not the modest, startled, 
timid novice, that genius delights to represent her — but 
the saucy, warm, inviting Queen of Love, whose life was 
one voluptuous sea of passion, and whose character was 
neither shy, bashful, nor intellectual. I have seen tole- 
rably correct copies of the Medici and the Yenus of the 
Capitol. As embodiments of the purely ideal, they seem 
perfect. Finer forms never blessed the fancy. They are the 
very type of love's young dream. But, still, not the Yenus 
of Cyprus — who was a thing to feed on — an every day 
enjoyment — a real woman ! They are mere Nympholepsies, 
and could Pygmalion give life to the Yenus de Medici 
to-morrow, his passion would calm itself to sleep under the 
gaze of her cold, unearthly, intellectual face. She looks 
the essence of pure Platonism, whose serenity of soul no 
emotion could ever ruffle — and yet they call her the repre- 



106 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



sentative of a goddess who was entirely and completely a 
woman, with all a woman's charms, her faults, her follies, 
and her feelings. Look at that delicate head of the 
Medici, that lofty brow, that thin, unsensual lip, that 
shrinking expression, and tell me if it conveys a cor- 
rect idea of her who cuckolded Vulcan, flirted with Mars and 
ravished Adonis. As the wanton Goddess of Love, the 
Naples Venus stands unrivalled. The attitude alone is 
decisive, it is so original — the half-turned head, the playful 
uplifting of the robe, the careless exposure of the limbs, 
the coquettish manner, all bespeak the enchanting art of 
the fair Cyprian. Then the expression of the face is so 
characteristic, mischievous, confident and tantalizing, full 
of warmth and sensibility, yet disposed to make you woo 
before you win. The right breast and shoulder can truly 
challenge Nature. Nor is classical correctness of feature 
the least charming part of her face. There was a young 
French girl looking rather superciliously at the legs, as if 
she could present a better pair if allowed to mount the 
pedestal. But such comparison would be dangerous for 
any legs that have yet come under my observation, and I 
have seen not a few good ones in my time. 

The gem of the collection, in my poor opinion, is a muti- 
lated head of Psyche. There is little left save the face — 
but such a face ! It has the very expression which I always 
thought impossible for the sculptor to give to marble — which 
I have never before seen, and Avhich I never expect to see 
again. The stronger passions of agony, pride, disdain, 
breathe under the chisel — as also the calm, reflective, 
passionless caste of beauty ; but there is a half melan- 
choly, subdued sweetness of face, the impression of wdiich 
the sculptor labors in vain to efl'ect. The absence of the 
eye, so necessary to accomplish this, seems too decisive to 
be counterbalanced by his skill. The face of the Sphynx 



LOVE AND DEVOTION. , 107 



approaches nearest to it. Still, there is too great an air 
of meditation — not enough of feeling — in fact, mind is too 
evidently the predominating power in all marble faces in 
repose. True, the Venus Callipyge has warmth, but it is 
the warmth of mere lasciviousness, which is gained by 
giving a voluptuous manner or attitude. The Psyche 
alone embodies the idea of the pure, strong, earthl}^ 
love ; she alone possesses that unutterable gentleness — 
that thoughtful presence of emotion which ought to accom- 
pany it ; — the downcast look, the softly veiled anxiety, the 
dejected bend of the head, are there ; — the joy that was — 
the sadness that is — the sorrow that may be — are all 
blended in exquisite harmony, and you pause to watch her 
soul awake from its sleep. The history of earth's most 
beautiful passion, in all its phases, breathes in that eloquent 
fragment. I shall certainly have a hand in the next revo- 
lution in Naples, if it is only to take advantage of the 
commotion to steal Psyche. Some future Massaniello may 
be loafing in the sun at this present moment, biding his 
time. If it were not for Austria, it w^ould be an easy 
matter to upset this throne. The soldiers never fight, 
and the king has no other support, as he farms out all 
the ofiices — receiving a stated sum for each monopoly. 
Beautiful system ! Not at all liable to abuse ! Why, 
the custom house officer ran after me to the hotel to 
get his bribe. I discharged him with a lecture upon 
breach of trust — but it was labor lost, as he did not 
understand me. 

Thus far the Italian women have disappointed me. 
With the exception of the Genoese Marchise, I have not 
seen a decidedly handsome woman. They have brilliant 
eyes, and hair like midnight ; but they don't look clean, 
are badly dressed, and have miserable limbs. There seems 
to be no middle class of society among them : over- 



108 ' WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

dressed ladies and under-dressed slovens are the Trhole 
extent of the division. They have but two occupations — 
love and devotion. The morality of the upper classes I 
know nothing about, — rumor makes it bad enough : that 
of the lower classes is below par. 

I called with an Italian friend upon the first danseuse ot 
the San Carlo ; after ascertaining my intentions she de- 
clined the honor, but recommended me to her sister ; this 
almost rivalled Cato — but it was outdone by a Maltese, 
who after several attempts to please my fastidious taste 
presented me to a young girl of scarcely fourteen — who 
spoke three languages, and was desirous of finishing her 
accomplishments by becoming a mistress ; after pronoun- 
cing upon her merits, I asked her origin and the terms of 
purchase — the girl was her own daughter, and the equiva- 
lent was eight Napoleons ; I smiled as I thought of our 
missionaries converting the heathen. Last evening near 
the Palace, I met a blind man led by a good specimen of 
Italian beauty — dark complexion, stealthy eye, all fire and 
softness, prominent breast and magnificent head of hair — ■ 
partly from pity, more from admiration, I poured a lot of 
small coin into her extended hand — she looked at them a 
moment with sparkling eyes, then smiling most graciously 
asked me when I would come to see her ; so much for my 
own experience of Naples' morality. Perhaps a vain man 
might find some palliation for such conduct in his own as- 
sassinating qualities; but excess of flattery would hardly 
dare to rank me beyond the deucedly genteel, or the 
quietly insinuating. 

POMPEII. 
We have visited Pompeii and Herculaneum. It was a 
good day's work. The former is particularly interesting. 
Some workmen were still employed in excavating. It is 



THE MORALITY OF POMPEII. 109 

quite a slow process. The French, during their occupa- 
tion accomplished more in that short time than the present 
Government have yet done. According to the map, full 
two-thirds of the city still remain buried ; but it is pro- 
bable that the best portion has been brought to light. The 
collection formed from this disentombed city, in the Mus^e 
Borbonico, is immense. Mosaics^ frescoes, sculpture, gems 
— all that bespeaks perfection of art and civilization is 
crowded in overwhelming evidence of the luxury, genius 
and refinement of these people. In the ^'Secret Cabinet," 
too, is also the damning confirmation of a lasciviousness 
and wanton brutality vfhich can even shame the modern 
French metropolis. It would seem as if excess of civili- 
zation necessarily denaturalized mankind, and while exter- 
nal beauty wooed the eye in every shape, instead of eleva- 
ting, it degraded the senses. It is both melancholy and 
humiliating to wander through these empty rooms, stripped 
of their ornaments, save here and there, some fragment 
of Mosaic or some half-obliterated fresco, — and to think 
that all our efforts are bounded by a bourne long since 
reached in these unburied walls, and that our boaste^l 
march of intellect has had a parallel in the calendar of 
time. The seal of two thousand years has been removed, 
and we discover the corpse of a mere provincial town of 
the Roman Empire, arrayed in more than the laborious 
splendor of our most exalted capitals. Pshaw I We are 
but imitators ! I shall not be at all astonished if they 
dig up a steam engine some day in one of the Roman 
villas. 

The most singular feature of Pompeii, to me, was the 
presence of tombs on the public street, and the existence 
of an assignation house immediately opposite the Temple 
of the Vestal virgins, — the latter was rather a suspicious 
circumstance. We had a French viscount with us, whose 

10 



110 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

highest euloglum Avas '' tres original." He could not get 
bevond that. He wore a Grecian cap, and carried his 
sketch-book under his arm ; but his artistical labors began 
and ende(i with an elaborate attempt upon the outline of a 
baker's machine for grinding. He fell in love at first sight 
with a deuced homely English girl, who was in the forum, 
dividing her time between a sandwich and a sketch of some 
marble columns, that stood around. I told him he might 
have the girl in welcome, if he only allowed me the sandwich, 
as I was awfully famished. It is astonishing what an appe- 
tite ruins do create. It is shameful that one's mortality 
should become so prominent in the midst of immortality. 

Upon entering the theatre, we were assailed by a hideous 
rernnant of humanity in the shape of a beggar. Indeed, 
the whole of Pompeii abounds in nuisances of this kind. 
One scoundrel w^as playing the guitar, and cutting the 
most ridiculous antics imaginable. A lover of the pictu- 
resque might have been delighted with his gesture and ap- 
pearance ; but had I been an emperor, he should have been 
hung with his own guitar string to the nearest pillar in the 
Temple of Justice. I would have revived the supremacy 
of that tribunal over the surrounding fragments. Such an 
unqualified vagabond desecrating the abodes where Grecian 
elearance once vied with Roman wealth to furnish forth 
attraction ! 

On our return, we passed some beautiful villas, filled 
with the blossoms and flowers of spring. They looked lik@ 
delightful retreats, recalling the scenes of many a romance, 
whose pages glow with a luxury of description only veri- 
fied in such a land. There is certainly something in the 
climate which renders mere animal existence an enjoyment. 
To mount the Hill of St. Elmo on a clear day, and stroll 
leisurely along its ridge far as the Grotto of Posillipo — 
through the villas of Regino and Rufib — is an absolute 



THE PROCESSION OF THE HOST. Ill 

pleasure. The sense of toil is completely overcome by 
the enchantment around, and it is only upon descending 
again to the shores of the Mediterranean, one feels the 
exhausting power of this most enervating of climates. 
Shelley's " Lines written in Dejection by the bay of Na- 
ples" must have had birth after such a stroll, doubtless 
caused by the reaction of an excess which such a tempera- 
ment as his must have indulged in amid such scenery. 



LEAF XYII. 

IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 

Hotel New York, Naples. 

I don't like the Naples cuisine. Fish and maccaroni 
are the only two things worth eating. The fruit is excel- 
lent — the wine decidedly bad ; the famous Lachryma 
Christi is among the most wretched liquids I have yet 
tasted. One drop of ether to a pint of water would 
make capital Lachryma Christi ! The Capri suits my 
palate best. There is also a wine called Marsala, has the 
flavor of an indifferent Madeira, but it is too powerful for 
summer work ; it takes two persons to manage a bottle. 

Two months might be killed very agreeably here with a 
nice female companion and a carriage. The out-of-door 
life of these people affords an infinite variety of amusement 
for an observer of matters and things. One has only to 
roam the market-place during the day, and turn into the 
puppet-shows at night, to find enough of Italian oddity 
and mischief to employ all one's faculties. An Italian 
quarrel is well worth seeing. There is a bustle and gesti- 
culation about it not to be found out of Italy. It begins 



il2 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

with a fierce threat of assault, and closes with a tremen- 
dous exercise of tongue, after having drawn in ail the 
bystanders, and elicited energy enough to have stormed a 
fortress. The women are particularly eminent, and much 
more likely than their lords to make a striking demonstra- 
tion. It is really fearful to have one of them open the 
campaign against you ; and before I became acquainted 
with the extent of the damage consequent upon it, I had 
some difficulty to keep from flinching ; but now I should 
as soon expect a stroke of lightning from a cloudless sky 
as a blow from an Italian — at least, openly. Their reli- 
gion is a strange business. I never can look at a proces- 
sion of the Host with any thing like becoming gravity — it 
is Utterly impossible. I try my best. Such a straggling 
group of patched humanity as it presents ! and then the 
ludicrous energy with which the ringers agonize their 
bells, and the tattered breeches of the boys peeping out 
from beneath their ceremonial robes like a rat in a palace ! 
The vagabonds in the rear, too, are a precious set ! They 
crowd together, muttering their doleful aves in a sort of 
chorus with the bells, and they have scarcely finished the 
strain before you may detect the identical fellows picking 
a pocket, or ofiering a woman. The most famous assig- 
nation house here has a virgin in fresco at the head of the 
stairs, with an ''ora pro nobis" beneath; and a girl when 
making love invariably takes the rosary from her wrist, 
and lays it carefully aside. No matter what the occupa- 
tion may be, the outward form of devotion is never ne- 
glected, and there is no imaginable excitement which 
could make them forgetful of this duty. The villain v>dio 
is telling a lie at every step — the prostitute who is seeking 
to ensnare you — will each go through the necessary cere- 
mony at every sacred image they may pass. Incompre- 
hensible compound of veneration and disobedience of God's 



THE ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 113 



laws ! I have stood bj the side of many a girl in the 
cathedral merely to watch with what facility she could 
change her upturned gaze of devotion into a passionate 
glance of unequivocal earthly fervor. It is the result of 
the system. 'The prescribed form gone through with, 'and 
the sin-freed spirit may wander again wherever it listeth. 
A convenient religion, both to live and to die by. Should 
ever the weight of my crimes press too heavily upon my 
conscience, I shall throw myself upon, the bosom of the 
Italian form of belief, and go to Heaven on the wings of a 
wafer. But save me from being buried in the Campo 
Santo here. It is a beautiful spot, and its tales of horror 
mere fictions ; but then it is full of lizards, and I hate 
their crocodile shape, bright eyes, and rapid movements ; 
it would be worse than hell to have such companions. If 
there was any truth in transmigration of souls, I should 
believe them to be ancient Komans. They haunt all these 
old ruins with the pertinacity of undying love. The very 
first object I saw at Pompeii was a lizard, and I never lay 
my hand upon old ivy without starting a dozen as green 
and glossy as its leaves. It makes me shudder to see 
these noiseless creature — these tenants of decay ; and I 
would rather have a host of jackalls howling around me. 
The doctrine of antipathy is strongly marked between us, 
and I shall be careful to give my executors orders not to 
bury me in their neighborhood. Byron should never have 
written those lines in the Giaour : 

" It is as if the dead could feel 
The icy worm around them steal.^' 

How did I get upon this subject ? — Off soundings ! 

The ascent of Vesuvius is over. The French viscount 
accompanied us, and we had a fine day for the operation. 
The fatigue of mounting is greatly exaggerated, and I was 
II 10* 



114 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

agreeably disappointed to find it such easy work. There 
was some disputing about our choice of a vehicle, and I 
was desirous to try the merits of the famed curriculo : but 
we finally took a carriage to Portici, where we found our 
guide and horses. The necessity for a guide was not 
apparent to me during the whole course of the business. 
The road is perfectly plain, and there is always some 
straggler about to take charge of the horses. As it was, 
we started with a bona fide guide and some four extra 
loafers, who managed to attach themselves as suite to the 
cavalcade, and who were of no possible use to us. I had 
my misgivings- of the result, and attempted to discharge 
this volunteer accompaniment ; but the thing was impos- 
sible. There is no getting rid of an Italian when he has 
once touched your bridle-rein. He then becomes a part 
of the animal, and it is like divorcing body and soul to 
separate them. At the Hermitage there was also another 
nuisance, called a guard, joined us, with the ostensible 
purpose of protecting us from robbery the remainder of 
the way ; but we saw nothing of him afterwards until he 
came to claim his pay ; and we might have been stabbed, 
buried, and rose from the dead, before he would have been 
aware of the fact. 

The whole base of Vesuvius is one scene of desolation — 
worse than desolation — for it is the violence of nature in 
its most infernal form ; whole miles of rough, black, up- 
turned lava, lying like huge masses of iron ore in wild 
disorder. Nothing could leave a mere fearful memorial 
of its destructive presence. War has its wreck — decay its 
herbage — even the desert has its palm and shrub ; but 
here all is one dark, lifeless, mis-shapen waste. Over 
these hard breakers the horses picked their way with difii- 
culty to the foot of the ascent. Here we left them, and 
began to climb. It is not more than twenty minntes* 



THE MOUNTAIN EMETIC ! 115 

walk, but laborious on account of the footing. One must 
choose a path among lumps of lava, which, lying loose, 
often give way under the foot, and cause some bruises, If 
one is not provided with stout boots. The ascent, for a 
tolerable pedestrian, costs but little exertion ; though out 
of practice I walked to the summit without a pause. 

T and the vicompte had more difficulty ; the latter, 

however, mounted unassisted by the guides. T took 

the whole crowd into service, some pulling in front, others 
pushing from behind ; and he had scarcely reached the top 
before they all claimed pay. This was as I expected. With 
this hope they had perseveringly trotted along the whole 
distance, and now with some show of justice tliey came 

down like locusts upon poor T . Their demand was 

enormous. We resisted, and appealed to our bona fide 
guide. He, of course, sided with his satellites, (no doubt 
receiving a per centage upon the amount swindled, to silence 

the scoundrels.) T paid the claim, and I threatened 

to throw the first one into the crater who dared to follow 
us another step. They vanished, and we had leisure to 
examine things unmolested. The wind was favorable, and 
we got a good view. 

^' II fume joUment I" (It smokes beautifully!) says the 
Frenchman. 

And, sure enough, it not only smoked, but showered fire 
in the most demoniacal style. The small cone within the 
main crater had bursted on one side, and the lava was 
pouring out red-hot. It moves very languidly, and had 
been some days reaching but a trifling distance. 

We descended to the space between the outer rim of the 
crater and the base of the interior cone. It was rather 
hot and sulphurous down there, and our poor dog began to 
howl dreadfully from the pain; but follow us he would, 
even where it was almost red hot ; and my consideration 



116 WILD OATS, SOWJSr ABROAD. 

for tlie animal induced me to shorten our visit. It is at 
best but a foolish undertaking, and only results in the 
destruction of one's boots. I saw nothing down there but 
horrid sulphur and molten lava ; besides, it is not very 
agreeable to have the infernal machine belching fire close 
by you, and every few seconds hurling myriads of red hot 
stones into the air above your head. These must occa- 
sionally be dodged, as they fall sometimes rather errati- 
cally. Then there is no telling when the emetic may 
become stronger, and I should dislike to be caught in 
such a shower without a fire-proof umbrella, or something 
of the kind. To me the sight of Vesuvius was shocking in 
the extreme. A continual roar like the surging sea, a 
shock, a belch, a dash of flaming liquid, and a mingled 
storm of smoke, fire and fragments in rapid succession, 
form the principal features of this monster. It was a 
capital idea of the ancients to suppose the existence of 
some Titanic form struggling to release itself from this 
mass. The agony seems tremendous, and each throb 
appears to threaten an instant rending of its fiery prison. 
It is a miniature edition of Hell, "well got up," and likely 
to awaken serious reflections upon the locality and char- 
acter of that much-disputed place. 

We dined on eggs and capri, with which our landlord 
had furnished us on setting out, and then prepared for our 
downward march. The descent is made from another side 
of the mountain, where the lava is like sand, and one sinks 
ancle-deep at every step. It is tolerably steep, and care 
must be taken to preserve a just balance if one descends 
rapidly. It is rather a pleasant undertaking. The vi- 
compte and myself dashed ofl" at a furious rate, taking 
immense strides and sinking almost knee-deep into the soil. 
About half-way down we brought up from exhaustion and 
laughter. I looked back to see what had become of T -. 



THE HUMAN PROJECTILE! 117 

I noticed something rolling towards us with desperate 
rapidity, the guide following with vain attempts to arrest 
its progress^ On it came like a small avalanche. The 
vicompte made a demonstration to seize it, but it passed 
him with the quickness of thought. I had but a moment 
for preparation. I sank myself deep in the lava about the 
line it must take, and prepared for the encounter. It 
came with a shock of a battering ram against me, but I 
succeeded in checking any further progress. When we 

picked the article up, it proved to be T , out of breath, 

and not a little alarmed at this manner of proceeding. He 
had forgotten the doctrine of specific gravity as connected 
with equilibrium, and would most assuredly have shamed 
the speed of steam by the time he reached the bottom ; but 
the experiment would have cost him his life. Had he been 
frictioned to a skeleton, I should have still been obliged to 
laugh. As it was, the damage was trifling, and the re- 
mainder of our descent was accomplished in safety. 

On the road back to Portici, the Yicompte, too, had his 
accident. When he first mounted his charger, I perceived 
he was no Dazzle, and that riding could scarcely be ranked 
among the number of his accomplishments. Thus far he 
had managed his steed with vigor, but unfortunately his 
confidence on the return became too great, and he would 
frequently turn round in his saddle to take a parting look 
at Vesuvius. In one of these farewell ecstacies I thought 
I heard " Mon Dieu !" rather too emphatically pronounced, 
and turned to see what the vicompte was about, — we were 
riding single file, and he was close behind me, — the un- 
happy man was in an agony ; by his frequent twistings the 
saddle-girth had loosened, and the saddle was slowly evinc- 
ing a downward tendency. The vicompte, instead of jump- 
ing off when he found his seat precarious, dropped the 
bridle, and, like all novices, clasped the saddle more closely 



1,18 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

■^vith Ill's legs and hands. The consequence was he onlj 
hastened the movement, and, before I couhl reach him, 
fell upon his head. The horse stood stock still, and the 
Frenchman picked himself up with another " Mon Dieu !" 
and an anxious, enquiring gaze at his Grecian cap — for 
this was of much more consideration than his head: — the 
mischief was not great in either quarter, though I suspect, 
by the aid of a fine-tooth comb, there might have been 
some killed and wounded numbered. As a Frenchman 
never laughs at another's misfortunes, I respected his, but 
it was at the risk of my life. I never felt so strong an 
inclination to roar. The chapter of accidents was com- 
pleted by our being too late for dinner, and we had to wait 
one hour, half-famished, before the arbiter of destiny an- 
nounced "soup !" 

In the evening I went to hear Anna Bishop sing in 
*' Tancredi." There was a sprig of regality in the royal 
box, and a cold-faced blonde, whose dull look could never 
take back the imagination to the days of Joanna of Naples. 
Alas ! for the splendour — the influence — the security of 
those days ! Thrones are still facts, to be sure, but facts 
vvhich Mind is fast wasting into shadows, and which, one 
hundred years hence, may be as unsubstantial as the glory 
of those scenes which made this land " a marvel and a 
spell." We ask now, where is the poison and the dagger, 
which once were the familiar furniture of these thrones ? — 
and posterity may ask, where are the throne and sceptre 
themselves ? What will rule in their stead, is the future 
mystery. 

I flatter myself that is nonsense sufficient for to-night. 
I will suck four oranges and then drop complacently to 
bed. There is a " sound of revelry" in the next room, and 
they are beating the poor keys of a piano with unmusical 
frenzy. 



THE CITY OF THE SOUL. 119 



LEAF XVIII. 
ROME. 

Hotel New York, Naples. 
I WAS half asleep — a shocking confession, considering 
the circumstances — when T. cried out, "Roma! Roma!" 
I rubbed my eyes, to "make assurance doubly sure," took 
a look thro4igh the windows of the diligence, and there was 
the Eternal City ! I was, however, in no Roman mood of 
mind, and had the spirit of great Csesar just then crossed 
my path, I should have been barbarian enough to wish him 
to the D 1. I was mad — downright mad ! One con- 
temptible Englishman had destroyed the whole glory of 
Rome ! The glow of pleasure, the rose-tint of imagina- 
tion, was gone. He had covered me over with the pall of 
mortality. In vain the colossal remnants of imperial 
grandeur wooed me — in vain temple and aqueduct, shrine 
and column, crowded around. The mist of his infernal 
presence shrouded me ; and my only consolation was the 
soft eyes of his niece ; in their still beauty lay my Rome 
— the city of the soul Oh ! she was a delicious witch ! — 
but the fabled dragon of the Hesperides was kindness itself 
compared to her guardian ! May all the terrors of a 
wicked conscience wait on him forever ! We were getting 
along so well together—no telling what an amount of love 
might have been squandered on both sides^— it must have 
ended in a "prostrating passion." But the stars were not 
propitious. Like the vforst of murderers, he strangled the 
cherub at its birth. A vigilant man was that uncle ! Why 
T. and myself had scarcely settled ourselves in the dili- 
gence, before his brow clouded ; and the whole distance 



120 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

from Naples to Capua was dedicated to the god of Silence. 
True, an incessant and vigorous interchange of glances 
was kept up ; but it was the whole extent of our allowance. 
It was deep drinking — quite intoxicating. She was a 
sweet-eyed creature. 

Ar Capua I helped her to alight : this was rather a bold 
i^OYB — in the very teeth of the dragon, too, who stood 
watching the process. But it takes a higher power to de- 
tect a hand-pressure — and, strange to say, we were both 
ungloved : this may have been accident, and ^as at most a 
mere oversight. Here we took coffee, and succeeded in 
getting a grumble out of the inexorable uncle. I was 
amiability itself, but he would not thaw. He seemed to re- 
gard me as an impertinent species of ruffian, whose natural 
propensities squinted towards highway robbery. At dinner 
the prospects brightened. The laughable medley of dishes 
made it impossible to proceed without remark — indeed the 
conversation became quite animated. I had the angel next 
to me, and threw a brilliant shower of small talk into her 
ear, while T. made a diversion in my favor by attacking 
both uncle and aunt, but it was only the effervescence of a 
moment — the trail of a star — the shimmer of a good deed 
in an infinity of evil. 

No sooner did I propose' walking on a little distance, 
and allowing the diligence to overtake us, than all was 
changed. Yet they did walk down the road, while I 
was washing my hands, and when I joined them, the 
horrid aunt said they must return, or uncle would be 
angry. This w^as too much. I looked indignant. But 
when the poor prisoner smiled, and said she would like 
to walk farther, I was satisfied. But she had to return 
— and in hopeless impotence of will we rode on till 
night. At the custom-house on the borders w^e were de- 
tained two hours, waiting for the diligence from Eome. 



THE COUP DE MAIN. 121 

All tills time she was walked up and down, in order to pre- 
vent T. and myself from entering into conversation with 
her. Again and again we made the attempt — but scarcely 
a moment was allowed us, — always some excuse for moving 
her away from contact with us. But richly was I revenged 
at last. The Rome diligence stood ready to receive us — the 
aunt stepped in — something had been left in the custom- 
house—the uncle went for it — and there stood the niece, 
alone and willing. It was as dark as our fate. I put my 
arm confidingly around her, and asked her if I should as- 
sist her to mount. A diligence is, at best, a bad thing 
to get into ; but when one wants to increase the difficulties, 
it can be made still worse. Twice — thrice she made the 
attempt to spring up, and each time came back into my 
arms with increased delight. It was a masterpiece of wo- 
manly tact, and she had to deal with one who could appre- 
ciate it. In the past, perhaps, she has enjoyed — and in the 
future there may yet be many an embrace awaiting her — but 
none more warm, more wicked and triumphant, than that 
midnight theft on the borders of Naples. I could not see 
her face, but I dropped into my seat with the air of a con- 
queror and the satisfaction of a genius, and in the sweet 
remembrance of such mischief, darkness had beauty and 
time had wings. 

Beyond Terracina we received our guard, consisting of 
two miserable soldiers, one out, the other inside. The dili- 
gence had been robbed a few nights before, and we stood a 
capital chance of undergoing a similar experiment. It 
was a great consolation to me that I sat next the guard — 
there was not the slightest danger of the brigands firing 
at him, and as he was in duty bound to fire his musket in 
some direction, the probabilities were in favor of his shoot- 
ing my opposite man— in both events I felt secure. In- 
deed, they frequently forget to fire at all, and take to their 

11 



122 WILD OATS^ SOWN ABROAD. 

heels before the presence of brigands is reduced to a cer- 
tainty : — a noise in the thicket is sufficient to start them. 
In nine cases out of ten they are leagued with the plun- 
derers. Protection from them is the height of the bur- 
lesque. I have my doubts whether there was any flint in 
the lock of the musket — I could not discern any. He 
slept soundly the whole way, and, with less money about 
me, I should have been delighted with an attack if only 
to see the sham defence. Those scoundrels about Terra- 
cina looked the perfection of brigandism. Yet they are 
all cowards. One spirited resistance or two would put an 
end to the annoyance. King Murat kept the road clear 
without much difficulty. He ordered every tenth man to 
be shot in the neighborhood where the robbery occurred. 
This methodical arrangement soon settled the romance of 
the business. 

It was two o'clock when we entered the Porta Maggiore. 
The custom-house officer was very civil, and with scarcely 
any detention, we found ourselves housed in the Hotel 
D'Allemagne, with good Eranz Eoesler. Up to this time 
I had not received one letter from home. I immediately 
sent the valet to my banker's, and told him to meet me at 
the Coliseum, with my letters. 

I strolled leisurely down the Gorso — through the Roman 
Forum — under the Arch of Titus — on, till I found myself 
in the shadow of the Coliseum. The chief relics of ancient 
Rome were before me ! yet, strange to say, I felt sad — 
dejected. The hour to which I had looked forward with 
so much pleasure had come at last, and found me cold — 
stupid — commonplace. The very events which made the 
scenes around me such hallowed ground, seemed to escape 
my memory. I essayed in vain to call the mantled Marius 
or the soft-eyed Nero from the realms of fancy. Angry 
with myself, I sat down upon the fragment of a pillar, 



NIGHT IN THE COLISEUM! 123 

near the entrance of the Coliseum. The sun was just 
setting, and the air came chill through the deep arches of 
the mighty fabric. I began to doubt whether this cold, 
solemn, unsympathizing ruin repaid one for the toil of the 
pilgrimage. For the first time, the romance of travel grew 
"flat, stale, and unprofitable" to my oppressed feelings. 
The valet placed a packet of letters in my hand. I broke 
the seal mechanically, and read. The twilight was fast 
approaching. Did I see aright ? The death of Y., the 
marriage of F. ! Strange destiny ! My first news from 
home greets me in the Roman Amphitheatre, with a mar- 
riage and a death ! She was married ! — the only woman 
I could ever have persuaded myself to marry. She was 
gone for me ! — wrapped in the guarded coldness of sacred 
bonds ! Her memories a crime — my future avowal an 
insult. Like the accursed Jew, I had thrown away a gem, 
richer than power, wealth, or fame. The curse of a cold- 
blooded philosophy fell back upon myself. I had exchanged 
substantial happiness for a momentary revel of the imagin- 
ation : and now, when these scenes, so coveted, lay before 
me — that imagination played me false, and lay torpid as 
the encrusted toad. Past joys rose from the sealed depths, 
of Time, with all the freshness of yesterday, and dimmed 
the glory of Rome itself. 

Here my dream- — for dream it must have been — was 
interrupted by my valet, declaring that my Excellency 
would take a fever in the night air without a cloak — and 
sure enough the night had come down upon my reverie. 
I stood a moment to take another look at the Coliseum. 
What a change ! The majesty of imperial Rome stood 
revealed in its most glorious representative. Yes ! night 
and solitude are the fit trappings of its decayed splendor. 
It circled me like some vast, unearthly thing, one sees in 
dreams. Up, up — to the very heavens — rose the dark 



124 WILD OATS, SOWN ABEOAD. 

remnants of its Titanic form. The Mack depths of its 
arches — the shadowy outline of its lofty walls — -the solitude 
of its myriad seats- — the sight of the cold stars above — 
and the ruin around — it made my presence seem a desecra- 
tion of its sublimity, and I walked away, half afraid of 
this mute witness of Rome's brutality— this survivor of 
the world's greatest empire. 



LEAF XIX. 

ROME AND ITS CHURCH. 

Rome, March 20, — . 
I ENTERED Kome a decided friend of the Roman Catho- 
lic Church. Prom my earliest days I had a reverence for 
its attractive, mysterious symbols, though only seen in the 
naked simplicity of our own churches. . History had taught 
me to regard its policy and maxims as the master-work of 
human intellect, based on the strongest stratum of the 
heart — Devotion. In the power and influence of its former 
pride, one recognised the presence of Godhead ; — -the crea- 
tion of man — the Vy^ork of his hands — -had assumed and 
exercised the infallibility of Divinity through the aid of 
Religion. The thunderbolt of Heaven seemed not more 
certain of its fatal work than the anger of the Yatican. 
In the hands of a sovereign prince, whose territory was 
but a spot on the face of Europe, spiritual ambition had 
centered the despotism of the world. Conclaves of cardi- 
nals, bands of Jesuits, had framed a system so cunningly 
interwoven with the wants and weaknesses of mankind, 
that it has survived ages and revolutions, and will survive 
Time itself. True, its roots are severed, and its once 



CATHOLICITY CONSIDERED. 125 

invincible arm palsied, but the vital principle that gives it 
birth and glory still lives on, waiting, as it were, some 
favorable change in the moral world, which may again, 
revive its col )ssal proportions. But in vain. No change 
oT maxim — no shifting of doctrine — no expediency can 
seat that gigantic shade of superstition and abuse upon 
its ancient throne. It may live forever — but ever in 
the decrepitude of its present state. The spirit of devo- 
tion which built up this earthly Godhead called popery, 
has taken a loftier flight, and in the realms of intellect, 
and not of outward sense, worships its Creator. — The 
pomp and magnificence of the Roman Church will still 
make and keep its worshippers. Perhaps for the Euro- 
pean mass it is the best religion — it exacts faith, and in 
return procures pardon for sinners. The end and aim of all 
Religion is submission to the Divine Will, as understood 
through the Bible. That the Roman Church too nearly as- 
pired to personify that Divine Will, in its own person, is a 
fault, but a fault for which it alone must atone ; it certainly 
accomplishes the main object more than any other Church. 
Why look farther? If experience has shown that the 
majority of mankind require those forms and trappings 
which insult the mind of the more enlightened, why blame 
the Roman Church for using them ? It does, ever has, and 
ever will consult its own interest. As a model of Eccle- 
siastical Government, it stands unrivalled. The infallibility 
of the Pope, regarded like the last appellant power 
in law, is excellent doctrine. It makes the Church an 
unity, and fetters the metaphysics of faith. The abuses 
of the Roman Church can never be revived. They are 
but the children of a Power too exorbitant to be ever 
again usurped. The ambition of the Pontiffs and the 
weakness of the age seduced the Church from its legiti- 
mate sphere. That ambition died, like a warrior, sword in 

11* 



126 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

hand. It was the first victim grappled and bound bj the 
recurring sense of the multitude, and with it perished 
every source for its re-production. This once boundless 
and successful ambition, hedged in bj the gradual but pro- 
gressive spirit of Time, is now looked upon as something 
monstrous, and the fear is, not that the Pope may aspire 
to increased dominion, but that his sovereignty will be 
absorbed by the surrounding powers. 

This is as it should be. The Pope must eventually 
retire into the sole performance of his spiritual duties. 
The Papal States are too shockingly administered to 
remain much longer in priestly hands.* Already it 
requires the strongest protection from Austria to keep 
things quiet, and where Austria once protects, she in- 
variably absorbs. It is a melancholy spectacle to see 
the Vicegerent of God surrounded with the tricky pa- 
geantry of an earthly Court, with but the shadow of kingly 
consideration. As the spiritual Lord and Head of a still 
powerful sect, he might command respect-^but in the rank 
of sovereign princes he must ever hold that most con- 
temptible of all places, a pensioner. This union of State 
and hypocritical Humility revolts the heart ; and so long 
as his Holiness aspires to temporal sway, one is compelled 
to regard him as a mere political puppet — the creature of 
intrigue and expediency. A government administered in 
this age by priests is an anomaly, and can exist only in 
Italy. It would seem as if the doctrine of retribution has 
been fearfully realized in the annals of Rome — for ages 
herself the scourge of the earth, and now and for ages past 
scourged in her turn by the lash of an unrelenting, bigoted, 

* It is remarkable that this prophecy was subsequently fulfilled 
in a great measure, but matters were unhappily restored again to 
their original condition by a nation, itself now as deeply sunk in 
spiritual and political despotism. — Ed. 



POWER PASSING AWAY. 127 



and ambitious Church — the worst of tyrants. Rome is 
one garrison of priests. Their orders crowd the streets — 
their equipages block the thoroughfares. Go where you 
will, the shaven crown, the alms-taking hand greets you. 
Whole revenues, the toil and industry of thousands, are 
eaten up by the mere lackeys of spiritual pomp. Not one 
footman only, but in two's and. three's they dance atten- 
dance upon clerical humility. If it requires the labor of 
two-thirds to maintain one-third in idleness, it is no wonder 
the country is exhausted, and still his Holiness is pressed 
for means to meet demands ; for they have reversed the 
rule, and one-third support the others. With the annual 
thousands who flock into this Eternal City, with the lavish 
expenditure of idle curiosity that follows such an influx, 
the prosperity of other lands would rise to its maximum. 
Here it all sinks into the abyss of scarlet, while filthy 
poverty drags on its swindling existence. I have seen 
thousands of Roman peasants ; — I have seen them in 
their holiday attire, where every thing around them 
invited to mirth, and yet I have rarely seen a joyous 
smile upon their features. Unlike every other part 
of Italy, they walk about surly and dissatisfied. They 
crowd the churches, not with the gay-hearted devotion of 
Naples and Genoa, but with the sombre brow of super- 
stitious fear ; and when some bright eye for a moment 
belies this dejection of spirit, it soon yields again to 
some unnatural, invisible restraint. Emotion dare have 
but one outlet here — the Holy Church. Into its arms 
must sink wealth, beauty, and passion. The union of 
temporal and spiritual sway to such an extent is a curse 
to the ruler and the subject. It seduces the one from 
his high calling, and makes the other the two-fold victim 
of abuse. It is time for the throne of St. Peter to part 
with its patrimony. The power to emanate the laws of 



128 WILD OATSj SOWN ABROAD. 

conscience is glory enough, without dabbling in the science 
of national government. The obsolete policy of the old 
Church can only produce distress and convulsion, and must 
lead to further foreign interference, until his Holiness will 
not even be able to retire with decency. I don't blame 
the old Pontiff for struggling to the last. It is hard for 
the possessor of that tiara before which emperors have 
bowed, to sink from his high pinnacle, and forego forever 
the dazzling hope of former power. 

[Note by the Author. It must be borne in mind that these ill- 
digested ideas were committed to paper some years ago, when the 
writer was a gay, thoughtless young man. Did he write now of 
Rome and its Church, it would be in a very different spirit ; but he 
is too indolent for that effort, and his Journal must stand as a true 
index of his rattle-cap disposition at that day. He has not written 
as an oracle or a wiseacre, but merely played the chiffonier in his 
own thoughts for his own amusement.] 

March 25. 
Well, thank fortune ! the Ruins are " all done up" at 
last ! I have been working like a Trojan over Ancient 
Rome. With less faith, but equal ardor, I have gone 
hand-in-hand with " Old Nibby" among the fragmentary 
heaps of imperial rubbish, and tried to image forth the 
colossal proportions of Roman genius ; — In the Pantheon 
— by the lone shaft of Trajan — at the foot of her tri- 
umphal arches — amid the scattered columns of her Forum 
— r-by the side of her half-decayed temples, I have stood 
with admiring wonder of the taste, the skill, the lofty con- 
ception, the finished execution, the unbounded resources of 
the Empire. In the baths of Caracalla — in the halls of 
Diocletian — under the imperishable aqueducts — among the 
vaults of the fesarian Palace, and by the " Tempel del 
Pace." I have been bewildered at the luxury — the vast- 
ness —the costliness of her splendor-loving pride. On the 



BYRON AMONG THE RUINS ! 129 

Tarpeian Rock I have smiled at the squabbles of antiqua- 
rians, and been amazed at the extent of my own credulity. 
Verily, the doctrine of Faith is as necessary in the explor- 
ing of traditionary lore as in the expounding of religion. 
Sam Patch would have laughed at " Treason's Leap." It 
would have been mere exercise for him. If I could believe 
all the dove-tailed theories of these ruin-mongers — these 
"monkbarns" — the night-owls of history, I have seen the 
very spot where Caesar fell, likewise w^here Nero fiddled ; 
but these are minor considerations. The skeleton of the 
Imperial City presents enough for reflection without ap- 
pealing to the doubtful, the sceptical and the unknown. 
Whether the "agger of Servius Tullius" still stands, or 
whether Attila threw his lance over this self-same wall, 
depends upon the imagination alone. For the feverish 
and wonder-loving fancy, the Christians are still grouped 
in the fatal arena of the Coliseum, the wild beast still 
foams, the inhuman shout roars on, and the Gladiator dies. 
In the filthy Tiber it sees a glorious, bounding, and exult- 
ing river ; in each rough antique the chisel of Praxiteles, 
and should some toga'd robber cross its path in the shadow 
of the Palatine, upon the instant the mysterious apparition 
is identified with the shade of Cataline or Sylla. To this 
fervid fancy the Brazen Wolf is a religion, and the stain 
upon "great Pompey's Statue'^ can be but the blood of 
Csesar. Happy self-deception ! Beautiful outlet of sim- 
plicity ! I begin to weary of this eternal call for admira- 
tion. I have supped full of Ruins, and must " have pause," 
or I shall die of a surfeit. There is a satiety of the eye as 
complete as that of the other senses. To drop by accident 
in a lounging mood upon some old pillar, and find around 
you an elegant sufficiency of picturesque decay, is pleasant 
enough. One can speculate upon the head that conceived, 
the hand that framed, and the crowds that once frequented 
I 



130 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



its now desolate beauty. Dream after dream of the un 
returning Past may float on in indefinite array of shadow 
until the world of sense recalls you from the realms of 
fancy, and you proceed to dinner with the satisfaction of 
having killed a morning without a vestige of fatigue. But 
to rise day after day with the infernal certainty upon your 
mind that so much must be accomplished — to find such and 
such ruins "booked" for your daily task — to start out in 
the most business-like manner, guide-book in hand, upon 
your conquest of observatory spoil — to be called upon to 
expend a certain amount of gratification upon each object, 
and to listen to the most profound remarks ; then to return, 
completely "fagged out," mournfully humming, 

" I've been roaming !" 

and compelled to hear your valet coolly dissecting the 
next day's subject. Oh ! it is horrible ! The pleasures 
of travel never rise to so high a pitch as when a man 
returns from such a ruinous tour of stone and mortar. 
How any individual can finish Rome in two Aveeks is 
appalling ; and yet some Americans steam it over in five 
days !* I should consult an oculist, and insure my life to 
a large amount before I attempted such a thing. It must 
be a magnanimous sacrifice of comfort. How mournful, 
yet how beautiful, does the spirit of Byron haunt with its 
imperishable verse this city of the soul ! There is scarcely 
a ruin, tomb, or temple to which his genius has not given 
a deeper charm. The voice of Manfred speaks in the 
sepulchral moonlight of the Coliseum, and the wandering 
Harold muses over the melancholy destiny of earthly 
glory in the Palace of the Caesars; here, in this solemn 
scene of a whole country's desolation, his own passions and 
his faults are dumb, and in all the beauty of a holy calling 

*■ Como, don't be personal. — Ed. Am. Cour. 



A GOSSIP WITH THE ARTISTS. 131 



he lays the offering of his inspiration and sorrow on a 
nation's urn. If the errors of a wayward disposition and 
the abuse of high talents can be atoned for, this alone 
should purchase it. 



LEAF XX. 

THE GALLERIES OF ROME. 

March 28, . 

I HAVE nearly broken my neck with looking at frescoed 
ceilings. It is worse than star-gazing. Indeed, few of 
them repay one for the pain of such a constrained attitude. 
How they were ever painted so well I cannot imagine. 
My artistic enthusiasm would soon evaporate, if compelled 
to lie on my back and paint upwards. I begin seriously 
to doubt my own taste— it don't coincide with the esta- 
blished despotism. I have been barbarian enough to admire 
pictures of little reputation. The two master-pieces of the 
world don't appear to my weak eyes so infinitely superior 
to all others. Perhaps it is a blessing not to be a connois- 
seur : one can admire without being damned, and damn 
without being regarded. This continual repetition of reli- 
gious subjects ends in being a bore. One would suppose 
the old painters lived with and fed upon Madonnas and 
Magdalens— that their only furniture was St. Sebastians 
and St. Johns— and that every new-born baby necessarily 
personified an infant Saviour ! Raphael painted Madonnas 
enough to satisfy all creation. To be sure, there^ is a 
strong family likeness running through them, and it re- 
quires but slight observation to detect the Fornarini in dis- 
guise peeping through the softened sanctity of the virgin 



132 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

mother. If this fact should shock the intensely religious 
spectator, why he has only to turn to Andrea del Sarto 
for consolation, as he has produced quite a batch of less 
objectionable Holy Families. I was very much amused 
at the question of a countryman of mine : we were looking 
at a Magdalen of Guercino ; he asked me quietly : ^' Who is 
this Magdalen that I see painted so often in these galleries 
—is it intended for Mrs. Christ?" '*No," says I, "it is 
the mistress of one of the old saints, I forget which." The 
poor man had the most confused idea of the biblical 
arrangements. I hope St. Anthony will forgive me for 
this little piece of slander — it was too inviting a chance. 

In the Farnesina Palace is a fresco by Sodama — the 
marriage of Alexander and Roxana — which certainly has 
great beauty. It is one of my favorites. The face of 
Roxana has that indefinable something which sets one to 
dreaming. The eagerness of the little cupids to induce 
her to retire is admirable, and the expression of the black 
slave is exactly what I have seen again and again in the 
South. In the same palace is the Galatea of Raphael, and 
the History of Cupid and Psyche. In a corner of one of 
the rooms Michael Angelo sketched a magnificent head as 
ji '' Carte de Yisite" in a morning call on Raphael. Power 
of genius ! The whim of the moment becomes an immor- 
tality, and the loose crayoning of Angelo is now a Palatial 
gem. What a pity one cannot roam in peace through 
these frescoed halls without meeting some amateur at 
every turn, anxious to display his science, and to prescribe 
rules of taste. It is equal to a religious persecution to 
force a man to worship what he don't fancy. I believe in 
Raphael and Michael Angelo, but it is neither the former's 
famous Transfiguration nor the latter's Last Judgment, 
that converted me. The Barberina Palace possesses one 
of the most interesting pictures in Rome — the head of 



SPARKLING GEMS. 133 

Beatrice Cenci hj Guido. It is, an astonishing pcrtorm- 
ance, which defies reproduction— an off-hand dash of inspi- 
ration which the artist himself could not have repeated. 
There is no limb visible— nothing but a draped face. — 
Shelley has given a truthful analysis of its expression. 
Tradition would have us believe that this portrait was 
taken the evening before her execution ; but it needs no 
such artificial aid to rivet one's attention. It breathes 
the language of thoughtful, unmerited suffering — it is a 
countenance that comes long after, at your bidding, from 
the depths of memory, and almost persuades you it was 
once your friend. If Beatrice Cenci ever looked thus, her 
father was the most inhuman monster on record. In the 
same room is the Fornarina of Raphael, a vain, passionate- 
looking creature, but deuced attractive withal. She has 
the real Italian intensity of gaze which challenges and yet 
retreats — which woos and yet commands. There is no 
dallying about that face ; she will brook no denial — you 
must either proceed to extremities, or not commence at 
all ; no Platonic warfare there. What a contrast to the 
pale brow of Beatrice Cenci. In another room is rather 
a warm picture of Joseph and Potiphar's wife. The ar- 
rangement is good, particularly the foot of the lady placed 
so enticingly upon that of Joseph ; but I don't like the 
legs ; besides, the subject is ridiculous. Had Mrs. Poti- 
phar been what painters delight to represent her, the virtue 
of Joseph would have melted like a January thaw. Such 
things do well enough on record when the absence of 
attraction is presupposed ; but strong temptation ! and 
human nature is very weak on that point. 



March 29. 
I LOAFED away the whole of this morning in the Borghese 
Palace. It has by far the largest collection of paintings I 

12 



134 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

have yet seen in Rome. It would be a difficult matter to 
make a choice. There are one or two of the half-licentious, 
mythological school, which certainly display great warmth 
of expression, and no slight knowledge of the poetry of 
passion. Correggio stands unrivalled in that school. He 
unites a certain ideality with the most natural disposition 
of the limbs, and gives a grace, softness and finish to the 
female form, which even the worst attitude cannot destroy. 
Titian himself must yield the palm to him in this respect. 
His carelessness of effect is astonishing. There is no pre- 
paration of position for his pictures. He throws the par- 
ties into the attitude which the intended emotion takes 
without any regard to the aspect it may present. Titian 
invariably has an eye to a handsome yet oftentimes artful 
distribution of the person. Correggio idealizes the shape, 
but retains its natural play. Titian idealizes both. 
The Danse of Correggio is a perfect picture of its kind ; 
so is lo embraced by the Cloud. The subject is not 
the highest order of the art, but if one dare judge 
by the attention it creates, and the admiration it elicits, 
it is the most attractive. There is a soft, half-bewil- 
dered, deep enjoyment upon Dange's face, which reveals 
bliss more potently than ever canvass yet accomplished ; 
and there is a wild, fitful abandonment in lo's limbs which 
speaks an ecstacy no other pencil has yet portrayed. The 
Chase of Diana, by Domenichino, does not please me ; 
there is a shocking indelicacy in one of the most prominent 
figures which destroys the effect, besides considerable con- 
fusion in the arrangement. He has crowded too much 
action together ; but then his Sybil is glorious ! — a real 
child of inspiration ! Titian's Sacred and Profane Love I 
could not comprehend— the face of one of the parties 
seemed to me the very essence of silliness. There is a 
head of Christ by Carlo Dolce, wonderful for its softness 



WEEP FOR ADONIS. 135 



of coloring and expression. This painter has a perfect 
passion for blue — either his mother or his mistress must 
have had blue eyes. 

I drove from the gallery to the Protestant burial-ground, 
near the Porta St. Paulo, I had no difficulty in finding 
the grave of Shelley. He sleeps in the new portion of 
the ground, near the wall ; but that of Keats I could not 
discover for some time. He lies in the old, neglected 
quarter, which is still surrounded by an impassable ditch, 
and can only be entered at one point. The idea of fortify- 
ing a grave-yard is new to me. I did not go in, as his 
tomb stood near the edge of the fosse, and I could easily 
read the inscription from without. In spite of myself and 
the reviewers, I felt sad as I looked at the lonely, desolate 
resting-place of the author of Endymion. Above the 
grave of Shelley the roses were in bloom, and by his side 
reposed the ashes of his countryman. The hand of affec- 
tion was visible in the fresh sod, the flowers, and the 
smooth cleanliness of the lettered marble ; but over poor 
Keats the rank grass lay matted and half-decayed; the 
broken lyre upon his little slab was almost obliterated, and 
the dark cypress around only mocked the unsympathizino? 
solitude. In death, as in life, he seemed an object of neg- 
lect. He the most sorrowful-fated, even among the poets 
— the spirit whose diviner moments gushed forth in song- 
over whose young years already the wing of death sat 
brooding, and to whom a thing of beauty was a joy forever 
— this being, whose stinted existence was but a record of 
good deeds, sleeps worse than the common herd of mortals. 
" Weep for Adonis !" 

In returning, I stopped a moment at the grotto of Ege- 
ria. It requires more credulity than I possess to believe 
that cavern to have been the haunt of any nymph. I don't 
envy Numa the interview, if it took place there. It looks 



13G WILD OATSj SOWN ABROAD. 

very like a quiz ; even tlie valet looked doubtful, and the 
mere shadow of a hesitation in a valet on such a point 
must be regarded as a positive damn. 



THE VATICAN. 

I entered the Vatican in the wake of a magnificent 
French woman. Such a complexion, and such teeth ! and 
then so young, and such a husband ! It was Beauty and 
the Beast. The rich scoundrel, I hear, got her out of a 
convent. She threw the fine arts into the shade, and it 
was some time before I could descend to the worship of 
Raphael. In the Yatican are the proofs of his transcend- 
ant genius. Here is the Transfiguration, the Madonna di 
FoligRO, and a host of frescoes, in what are called the 
Loggia of Raphael. I must confess he soars above my 
capacity, and I attempt in vain to analyze the undisputed 
superiority of his works. In my poor judgment, the rival 
picture by Domenichino — the Communion of St. Jerome — 
is decidedly preferable. Indeed, the difi"erent degrees of 
eminence in many of the old painters seems to me very 
like the Metaphysics of Kant ; none but the initiated 
can detect the shade. The artistical world has pronounced 
Raphael the '' Divine," and no doubt there is to them a 
something in his creations which justifies that stamp of di- 
vinity ; but to the ordinary eye there can be but a slight 
difi'erence of merit in the master-pieces of that age — so 
very slight, that it sounds much like afiectation to hear so 
many assert that they have discovered and can comprehend 
it. If I can pardon myself for venturing an opinion upon 
Michael Angelo, I should pronounce it a mass of anatomi- 
cal study, without being either sublime or terrible ; — as a 
school of conception, contortion and grouping of every 
possible kind, it is justly considered unrivalled. This fact 



THE LADY AND THE GOD, 137 



onlj establishes Angelo's knowledge of tlie resources, and 
his ability in handling the art ; but where is the beauty, 
the grandeur, the horror^ which this conception should pos- 
sess, if Angelo was such a consummate master of the most 
excellent ideal of the Art ? The subject is one of the 
highest order for the display of power in all its varieties, 
yet he contented himself with a mere play of the human 
frame. There is nothing poetical or grand in the whole 
affair, and with the exception of the face of the virgin, 
nothing pleasing. Among the blest appears a sort of dis- 
satisfaction that they are saved, while coarse vulgarity runs 
riot among the damned. The figure of Christ is more 
like a quarrelsome Athletse, than one whose indignation 
should be tempered with sorrow, even in a just condemna- 
tion. Let the artist stand science-struck before this won- 
der of the world, I shall require something less scientific 
before I can yield my reverential homage to the great 
Michael Angelo. 

The marbles of the Vatican collection are innumerable. 
I absolutely grew weary of the long line of busts, and 
hastened to get a look at the Apollo, the Laocoon, the 
Antinous, and the Perseus. These famous cliaracters have 
separate vestibules, so that the eye may not be disturbed 
by the presence of mediocrity when gazing at their perfec- 
tion. Poetry has done them no more than justice — they 
have the " odor" of immortality, and henceforth the sculp- 
tor dare but imitate — he cannot surpass. My beautiful 
Prench woman looked at the Apollo with real womanly 
admiration. By Jove ! I envied the god ! How quick 
that "beautiful disdain" of his proud face would settle 
into loveliness if she were the Pygmalion that waked him 
into being. He would step from that pedestal into her 
arms, and Niobe's children might be saved. 

I came home to dinner with a terrific appetite. I must 

12 



138 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

change my place at the table d'hote ; there are three 
Spaniards above me who could create a famine in Anda- 
lusia. They eat like God-forsaken people, gifted with an 
additional stomach instead of a soul. 



PALM SUNDAY. 

The ceremonies of holy week have commenced. We had 
the blessing of the Palms to-day. It may be very interest- 
ing to the devotee, but I thought it rather a tedious per- 
formance. The principal feature in the ceremony is the 
procession round the church ; the pope is carried, under a 
canopy, along the aisles, upon the shoulders of some six or 
eight men, followed by the cardinals, bishops, and diplomatic 
body, with palms in their hands ; they pass and repass the 
whole length of St. Peter's, between lines of Swiss Guards 
and the devotional multitude. The Pope would have quite 
a benevolent looking face, were it not for the artificial 
humility which he labors to assume ; his nose is of the 
bottle order, and decidedly bad — they say he is afflicted 
with cancer in this organ. There is a striking contrast 
between his affected humbleness of demeanor and the 
natural bearing of the whole school of Cardinals ; they 
don't pretend to even the common decencies of devotion, 
but are continually looking around at the women, and dis- 
playing their diamond rings : with few exceptions, they 
all bear the marks of pride, levity, and hypocrisy stamped 
upon their features. I have never yet seen a body of men 
who struck me so unfavorably, and whose manner so 
strengthened this impression, as the Roman Cardinals. 
The church could scarcely be called crowded, and yet 
what a mass of people ! one can only judge of the immense 



THE SCIENCE OF PALMISTRY! 139 

space in St. Peter's, by seeing thousands round its altars. 
The papal throne and crimson hangings were very magnifi- 
cent. Here the pomp and ceremony of the Roman church 
finds a fit theatre for its display — yet it was less imposing 
— less captivating than I had anticipated. The character 
of the audience destroys all solemnity, and while'the ^' Sta- 
bat mater" may be singing, one must not be surprised if 
the spectators are amusing themselves in a variety of 
ways. I noticed one gentleman near me fingering the 
waist of his delicate neighbor, and the blessing of the 
palms was a matter of very little consequence compared to 
his present employment. It is regarded rather as a spec- 
tacle than a religious ceremony. 



LEAE XXI. 

SUBUEBAN RAMBLES. 

Frescati, April 3d. 
We made an excursion to Frescati, and came near 
freezing as we drove across the Campagna. The wind 
had a fair sweep at us, and the dust was awful. It is the 
most dreary looking piece of country I have ever seen. 
At Frescati they charged us eight pauls for dinner, right 
in the teeth of an agreement for six pauls per head. The 
scoundrel attributed it to our bad Italian, and insinuated 
that we were not quite perfect in our pronunciation of the 
numerical alphabet. This was aggravating. However, 

he balanced accounts by giving D an enormous bed 

for the night. It was a real royal afiair — room for a regi- 
ment, and space left. There was some difficulty in climb- 
ing in without steps : but when once bedded, there was no 



140 WILD OATS, SOWN ABEOAD. 

danger of ever rolling out. D 's frail body was lost 

in the vast extent of surface ; and his voice sounded as 
one "coming from the wilderness." He had to be waked 
half an hour earlier in the morning, to allow him time to 

travel from the centre to the margin. Q , before 

going to sleep, entertained himself with a labored argu- 
ment upon the usefulness of missionary societies, and most 

preposterously appealed to D for the truth of his 

assertion. Now this was worse than playing a game of 
chess across the Atlantic ; for, without the aid of a speak- 
ing trumpet, it was impossible to hear D reply • so 

we insisted upon Q going instantaneously to sleep. 

We got into the saddle about sunrise. Tusculum was 
our first point of attack. We reached it after a two hours' 
ride, interspersed with several spirited scrub races, in one 
of which we nearly ran down a return party of mules. 
Tusculum has an Amphitheatre and a Curia. It did not 
take us long to exhaust our admiration, and we were soon 
on the route for Monte Cavi. We passed through a place 
called "Rocca del Papi," — dirty and picturesque in the 
extreme. 

From the top of Monte Cavi we had a splendid view of 
Rome — the Tiber — the whole waste of the Campagna — 
the olive groves of Frescati — the Sabine Hills and " Nemi 
navelled in the woody heights;" — even the white surf of 
the Mediterranean could be seen along the far horizon. 
It was certainly very beautiful. But still, the contrast 
between the rich foliage of Frescati, and the desolate, 
houseless Campagna was strikingly mournful. There lay 
the Imperial City, the centre of a wide, encircling solitude 
— like a fated thing, around which the destroyer has 
drawn his accursed line. From the groves of Frescati to 
the very walls of Rome — from the shore of the sea to the 
base of Soracte's ridge — Death reaps continual harvest 



"sour grapes." 141 



The still breathing embers of the World's Mistress are 
hedged about with the pestilential air of a sepulchre, and 
each throb of living Rome almost touches the garment of 
the destroyer. The Monastery on Monte Cavi might well 
be a cure for ambition ; when, in its silent cells, the 
active mind had framed its airy thrones, and rose in fancy 
its usurping height, one look from the lofty casement 
would show the worth of vrorldly glory. A nation of 
Emperors sleeps below I "Who and what are they, and 
what could he be ? But we are becoming philosophical. 

They gave us a wretched dinner at the Monastery, for 
which we paid one scudi — or rather, the church received 
one scudi, and the dinner was gratis. Beautiful, sophisti- 
cated shadow of conscience ! 

We reached Rome in time to hear the first " Miserere" 
in the Sistine Chapel. It was crowded, and the heat very 
oppressive. I knew nothing about music, and it was more 
from a sense of duty that I attended the performance of 
this famous piece. The singing is doubtless very fine, but 
scarcely repays one for the fatigue encountered in hearing 
it. One must go an hour beforehand, and then listen to 
an apparently endless repetition of chaunting before the 
gem is sung. Had it not been for the presence of one or 
two beautiful women, and the prospect of a fight with a 
contemptible sprig of English nobility, who would not 
stand still, I should never have survived the whole afiair. 
I saw the handsome French woman going through her 
devotions at a side altar, which was extravagantly deco- 
rated with candles. Nobody but the Beast was about, 
and I had a good look at her. She prayed long and fer- 
vently ; one might have supposed she was asking Heaven 
to make an angel of her husband. After all,- there is 
something about her smile not altogether right. It is not 
absolutely silly — but there is an absence of that bright 



142 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

intelligence which is the soul of a smile : but perhaps this 
idea is founded on the sour-grape principle — so we won't 
analyze it. 

To-day his Holiness was very busy in his offices of 
humiliation. After ''blessing the oil" he proceeded to 
wash the feet of twelve pilgrims, that is to say, certain 
persons dressed in white and ranged on a platform, whose 
feet had been previously well scrubbed for the occasion. 
Very little of the ceremony could be seen ; the pilgrims 
looked more like criminals dressed for execution. His 
Holiness, after tucking up his clothes and stooping to the 
work, was so surrounded by his attendants that it was 
impossible to ascertain what he was about. The banquet 
followed, at which the pope played the character of ser- 
vant to the aforementioned pilgrims ; altogether the most 
derogatory exhibition yet enacted. I do not wish to 
speak slightingly of these august things, but to say the 
least it is confounded bad taste to perform so literally 
those acts which in Jesus Christ were godlike and charac- 
teristic humility, but which, in a pope of Rome, degenerate 
into the broadness of caricature. Humility don't consist 
in feet-washing, and if the people require to be reminded 
of this fact, in the life of our Saviour there are other 
ways equally forcible for quickening the memory, without 
burlesquing Holy Writ. 



TIVOLI. 



Drove to Tivoli to see the Falls. They are pretty 
enough— plenty of foam — but rather a small supply of 
water. They belong to the ribbon order of cascades, and 
just about large enough to make a good tail for the Horse 



A RAMBLE ABOUT TIYOLI. 143 

"mentioned in tlie Apocalypse" — what a singular idea 
that of Byron's ! We labored about under a most oppres- 
sive sun, and were fools enough to walk some two miles out 
of our way to look at an old Koman bridge, which proved 
to be nothing more than a common arch thrown over a 
little rivulet some ten feet wide. I should have pitched 
our guide into it had the water been deep enough to drown 
the scoundrel. 

The Sybil's Temple is a "little love" of a ruin, and, 
seen from the ravine, is charming. We did not get into 
Hadrian's Villa, as we had forgotten to procure a permit. 
I was not sorry, as I felt no inclination to be detained at 
least an hour scanning doubtful memorials. 

On our return, we induced three peasant boys to run 
about a mile after our carriage, showing them a bajocci 
whenever they felt inclined to give up the chase. We 
finally distributed the copper spoil, and got up quite an 
interesting fight among the parties. The smallest boy, as 
usual, managed to secure the prize, and we left him in an 
energetic attempt to maintain it. These Romans are, with- 
out exception, the most persevering beggars in the world, 
^ — it is their ruling passion, — and the eloquence of Cicero 
still lives in the supplicating prayer of these vagabonds. 
The blind, the lame, and the decrepid, form a hospital at 
the entrance to the principal churches — while the juvenile 
community range the streets. A month in Rome case- 
hardens most men, and one becomes deaf to all eternity. 



Apeil 7th. 
Easter Sunday. At twelve o'clock the Benediction 
of the Pope was given from the Balcony of St. 
Peter's. The area in front of the church was a com- 
plete jam. The soldiers were drawn up at the foot 
of the steps — the cavalry were ranged between the two 



144 WILD OATS, SOWN" ABROAD. 

fountains. Most of the strangers had places over the 
colonnades — the citizens and peasantry stood immedi- 
ately under the Pope. It was quite a spectacle. As 
soon as his Holiness appeared at the Balcony, the 
whole crowd kneeled. Something, I know not what, 
was read. Cannons fired, bells rung, and heretics were 
damned. It was a matter of some fifteen minutes. 
There was a great scramble among the believers for 
certain scraps of paper — probably indulgencies, which 
were distributed from above after the blessing had 
been pronounced. In the palmy days of Roman 
belief, the effect of such a scene must have been 
sublime. Thousands in the beauty of faith and the 
ardor of holiness — men ' in steel, whose only law was 
will, whose only conqueror the Cross — kneeling in 
abject submission under the outstretched arms of an 
infirm old man, whose voice scarce broke the silence 
of their deep humility ! What is it now ? An empty 
show. The great majority neither sharing in its solem- 
nity nor believing in its efficacy. The illumination of 
St. Peter's is brilliant beyond compare. Seen from 
the Pincian Hill it is indescribably grand. From its 
base to the topmost cross, the whole outline stands 
perfectly revealed. It seems to hang in mid-heaven, 
or be traced with lines of fire against the sky. No- 
thing could give one a better idea of its splendid, yet 
gigantic proportions : those details, which at other 
times distract the eye, are gone. The huge mass 
has disappeared, and in its stead rises a delicate 
frame-work of fire — a starry mould of some godlike 
temple, which the imagination might conceive but 
dared not fashion. Its range of columns, base, shaft, 
and capital, in liquid light — the lofty dome, spread- 
ing so gloriously above the frail fretwork, looks more 
like some enchanted spell than reality. Hour after 



ILLUMINATION OF ST. PETER's ! 145 

liour we stood gazing at this masterpiece of architec- 
tural daring, seen for the first time to advantage, and 
the genius of Michael Angelo was avenged, 

April 8th. 

Spent a whole day in the studios of Rome. I found 
several interesting models of Thorwalsden's. Among 
the rest, that of Byron and the Dead Lion. His 
famous work of Christ and the Twelve Apostles will 
hardly be completed during his lifetime. Crawford, 
the American, has finished some fine pieces, and is 
at present modeling an Adam and Eve. It seems too 
large ; but it is impossible to judge of the effect in 
its unfinished state. He is considered one of the most 
promising sculptors in Rome. A Hero and Leander, 
by Steinhauser, has an easy, graceful air in its arrange- 
ment, quite captivating ; but the marble is faulty. It 
is intended more for the garden than the saloon. 

The Germans appear to be the best artists here ; 
but I saw nothing very excellent or original, with, per- 
haps, the exception of a few peasant pieces by Weller, 
which were to the life. In the course of my visits, 
I only met one model girl ; she was about eighteen, 
and had a remarkably sweet face. These girls are 
said to be virtuous, but I must be allowed a large 
degree of skepticism upon that point. They are no 
doubt very virtuous out of the studios, but it is all 
nonsense to tell me that a young girl — and an Italian 
one, too — can be attitudinizing under the scrutiny of 
an artist, and keep her blood in a cold, divine abstrac- 
tion by some unearthly influence of the high art she 
is aiding. Bah ! it savours of gammon. Flesh and 
blood don't recognize such flimsy cobwebs, nor is the 
latitude of Rome a very safe place for the experiment. 
K ' 13 



146 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



LEAF XXII, 

DEPARTURE FROM ROME, 

April 9th. 
Our holidays are over. Last night we had the 
last performance— the fire-works at the Castle of St. 
Angelo. Alas ! for the glory of the tiara ! The 
thunder of the Papal bull is reduced to a rocket^ and 
the battlements of St. Angelo frown with squibs. 
Old Rome, that poured her thousands upon the plains 
of Pharsalia, and choked the very vomitories of her 
Coliseum with ferocious masses to feast them with 
human blood, stands gaping at the fiery conception 
of the Papal pyrotechnist. Pshaw upon history ! It 
makes heroes of the past only to belittle the present. 
Perhaps the very hunchback beside me, — whose "garlic 
breath," still strong as at the Lupercal, sent forth 
its "Bravo!" as each rocket rose towards Heaven, — 
was a descendant of great Caesar; or, it may be, 
the blood of Mark Aurele. Ye gods ! If the august 
shade of Hadrian could know how his tomb is thus 
annually besquibbed, to amuse barbaric strangers ! It 
is almost as bad as finding the ashes of Alexander 
in a bung-hole. I am right glad these festivities 
have ceased ; one will now be able to see things in 
peace and comfort. The birds of passage will be on 
the wino: to-morrow, and in a few days Rome will be 
silent and deserted. The touring locusts will infest 
Florence and Naples next. We, too, must think of 



THL "niobe of nations." 147 

moving. I have wandered about here so mucli, tliat 
I know nearly every nook of the Eternal City. I 
have stood upon her Seven Hills, and from tlie soli- 
tary summit of Testatio have passed in review her 
glories from the step of Remus to the leap of 
Bourbon. I have walked aa;ain and again the cir- 
cumference of her walls, and paused daily beneath, 
her monuments, to realize the fact that I was in 
Rome. Like her early youth, she is still a dream ; 
and often, as one roams carelessly through her streets, 
the sound of ''Roma" falls upon the ear with a start- 
ling cadence, as if the certainty of her presence was 
made manifest for the first time to one's bewildered 
senses. It is not the first glance of Rome, as her 
towers rise above the plain, that awakens the school- 
boy feeling of awe within you, but after you have 
dwelt amid its desolation, and familiarized yourself 
with its woe, you feel how truly melancholy has been 
its fate. Truly, the ^'Niobe of Nations." 



PALAZZO SPA DA. 

This palace contains the statue of Pompey, supposed by 
antiquarians to be the one that stood in the Curia, and at 
whose base " great Csesar fell." It is a noble figure, and 
if not the identical one, it ought to be. We had a Ger- 
man custode to show us the pictures. He had ten times 
the intelligence of these contemptible Italian custodes. A 
head of Seneca, by Leonardi da Vinci, and Dido on her 
funereal pyre, by Guercino, are the gems of the collection. 

We afterwards went to the Sciarra Palace. This is a 
small, but very select gallery — most all of them eminent. 
The " Magdalen del Radici," by Guide, comes nearer my 
idea of a Magdalen than any I have yet seen. Passion is 



148 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD, 



still struggling with repentance, and the voluptuous lip 
yields with difficulty to her sorrowing eyes. The woman 
has just passed into the saint, and there is still enough of 
earth left to show how easily she might once have for- 
gotten Heaven. It is a sad and weeping face ; but it is 
the sadness and tears of a young and handsome widow 
over a lost husband, not the unutterable anguish of a 
maiden over a lover. The indulgence of passion for pas- 
sion's sake, can never leave behind it such faces as most 
painters give to their Magdalenes. Guido was aware of 
this fact, and left the trace of earth upon her features. 
The Mistress of Titian did not strike me as being so lovely 
at first blush, but after I had seen it several times, the 
beauty conquered, and became entrancing — what aston- 
ishing richness of coloring in her dress ! The Yiolin 
Player of Raphael is really perfection ; it requires no 
artistical skill to detect the genius there — it is evident 
to the poorest judgment. Vanity and Modesty, by Leon- 
ard! Da Yinci, though extravagantly admired, I did not 
like. I can see nothing upon the face of Vanity but a dis- 
gusting silliness which destroys the whole picture. There 
is a copy of the Fornarini, by Julio Romano, which can- 
not be told from the original. He comes nearer to Ra- 
phael in portraits than any other painter. Plis S2:)lendid 
Caesar Borgia still passes for a Raphael. They are now 
selling the collection of Cardinal Fesch ; but the best pic- 
tures, it is said, have been already sold, and the rest is 
rubbish. I attended two sales ; the rooms were crowded, 
but the bidding was not very brisk. Two hundred dollars 
was the highest priced picture sold, and that pronounced 
far above its value. The majority of the pictures offered 
vvTre indifferent looking things, and coming from any other 
gallery than that of Cardinal Fesch, would scarcely de- 
serve notice. The English seemed to be the greatest pur- 



A GHOSTLY SCENE. 149 



chasers. They buy every thing from the torab of Juliet 
down to the god Priapus. Would to heaven they would 
stay at home and cut their throats, instead of seeking dis- 
traction on the continent — or else go to China. No won- 
der Byron got sick at the sight of them. 



ROMAN CHURCHES. 

The churches of Rome appear to me innumerable. I 
have been visiting some two per day, and have not '' done 
them up" yet. It is a painful operation. Most of them 
are so dark, and the paintings so high up, that one's eyes 
grow weary in attempting to get a correct idea of their 
merit. 

I went to Trinita di Monte some dozen times before I 
could get a sight of Volterra's "Descent from the Cross," 
ranked among the best paintings in the world — called, in- 
deed, the third best. It is a picture, the great merit of 
which I never could have detected. The Church of Marie 
del Angeli, made from a hall in the baths of Diocletian, is 
one of the most impressive I have ever entered. It is the 
form of a Greek cross, and its vastness falls at once upon 
the eye, unbroken by the masses of column which distract 
the view at St. Peter's. It contains a martyrdom of St. 
Sebastian by Guido, one of his best works. .The tombs 
of Salvator Rosa and Carlo Maratta are here. 

I was some time in hunting up the Church of " St. Pietro 
in Vinculo," and was finally led to its very door by a dark- 
eyed Roman girl, whom I stumbled over, making her toilet 
by the Temple of Minerva. I gave her a paul, and wanted 
to kiss her for her trouble, but the little thing said I had 
wicked eyes, and slipped away from me quite coquettishly. 
In this church is the Moses of Angelo ; it may be sublime, 
but by Jove ! the horns on his head look too questionable, 

13^ 



150 WILD OATS, S0W2^ ABROAD. 

and his beard is too majestically extravagant. I cannot 
admire the divine Lawgiver. There is a statue of St. Su- 
sannah, by Da Quesnoy, in St. Maria de Loreto, which I 
would not exchange for Moses. But then the genius of 
Angelo appears again in all its glory in his Christ, which 
stands in the church of Maria Sopra Minerva. That is 
incontestably the finest Christ ever modeled. Leo X. 
and Cardinal Bembo have tombs in Sopra Minerva. It 
seems to be a favorite church, I heard the Pope say 
Mass in person there. Yet it is very ordinary-looking. 

Annexed to the Capuchin church are vaults, in whieh 
dead bodies from some quality in the soil, are preserved 
from decay for an incredible length of time. We v^ited 
these mummies, and it is quite amusing to see what a fan- 
ciful arrangement exists in the distribution of these de- 
parted monks. Arms, legs and skulls are interspersed in 
the. most ornamental manner ; while one of the defunct 
brotherhood stands erect in each corner of the vault, in a 
complete robe of the order, with his cowl drawn over his 
half-fleshless skull, like some ghostly guardian of the char- 
nel-house. The lamps that hang from the ceiling are made 
from a part of the pelvis and the small bones of the spine, 
and might form excellent patterns for some original manu- 
facturer of astrals. The monk who showed us the pre- 
mises was a sensual-looking scamp, and laughed as heartily 
as we did at the arrangement. I told him they would peal 
his skull some day to make a fashionable solar lamp. 
"Very probable," says he, and grinned with all the .indif- 
ference of a man of enlarged scientific views. In the 
church is the picture of the Archangel Michael, by Guido. 
The face is superb. The sybils of Raphael are in Maria 
del Pace. This church is so small, and was so crowded on 
my visit, that I did not get a good opportunity to see 
them. 



" HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE !" 151 

LEAF XXIII. 
THE ARTS OF ROME. 



April 11, . 

To-day I took a tremendous walk through the Trasta- 
vere, — one of the old Quarters of Rome, — and then 
mounted the hill to the church of St. Onofrio. There is 
a fine view of the city from its portico ; and within its 
walls are the tombs of Tasso"and of Barclay. [By the way 
I must read Barclay's Agenis.] The gardens in this neigh- 
borhood are beautiful ; that attached to the Corsini Pa- 
lace reminded me of Naples. The sun was dreadfully op- 
pressive, and I turned into St. Peter's to avoid the mid- 
day heat ; here the temperature appears to be always the 
same, and it is quite a luxury to pass from the sultry glare 
of noon-day into its cool sublimity. I ''loafed" about, 
looking at the tombs and mosaics, until the hour of vespers. 
There is little to admire in the extravagant masses of mar- 
ble which mark the resting-places of the many popes, who 
sleep in this most glorious temple. There is too much 
sameness of design, and repetition of faith and charity in 
all of them. The genius of Can ova is only visible in the 
Two Lions that guard the ashes of Clement, and it disap- 
pears entirely in his Monument to the Last of the Stuarts. 
One can scarcely believe it to be his work. Could not 
such a sculptor as Canova rise to a higher and more original 
conception to hallow the eternal rest of the last of that un- 
happy race of kings ? His kneeling figure of Pius by the 
shrine of St. Peter is simple and life-like — perhaps the- best 
of his sepulchral productions. There is a very voluptuous 
marble figure of a female in the transept, which Bernini 



152 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

was called upon to drape. She certainly has a rather 
worldly appearance for an ornament to a tomb. But, in 
my opinion, Bernini's bronze drapery has not remedied 
the matter, as it only wakes attention to what might other- 
wise escape observation, and each one is only the more 
anxious to learn the incident connected with its covering. 
In the admiration of art, passion should sleep. 



PALAZZO ROSPIGLIOSO. 

In a Casino of this palace is the oft-copied Aurora of 
Guido. It is the favorite fresco, and one never gets tired 
looking at it. There is so much variety, grace and pretti- 
ness in the Hours, that no matter how different may be 
the taste of the individual, each can find something in 
them to admire. There is also another picture of Guido 's 
here, Andromeda chained to the Bock. She is just the 
kind of Andromeda I should like to rescue. 



We have made our last visit to the Capitol, and looked 
for the last time upon the Dying Gladiator. Apart from 
the ideal, it is the most astonishing piece of sculpture in 
the world. A man, a real man, is dying before your eyes 
every time you look upon that marble. Every moment, 
you expect to see the arm, on which he leans, relax, and 
the body drop unnerved in death. It is truly wonderful 
how genius could so completely seize nature in that slight 
pause between time and eternity, and fix it for ever. 

I found the English girl, who travelled with us from Na- 
ples, admiring the Antinous. The inexorable uncle stood 
by her elbow. We exchanged salutations, and I expressed 
my surprise that we had not met oftener in our many sight- 
seeing peregrinations about Rome. The uncle gave a satis- 
fied grin, which expressed any thing but regret at the cir- 



A "ball" without music. 153 

cumstance. I did not notice the old villain, but ventured 
to hope to her that we might find each other on the road 
to Florence. She laughed wickedly, and said, 
^'Perhaps you mean when we exchange coaches." 
I bowed myself oiF triumphantly, and in my satisfaction 
came near stepping upon the Mother of Nero, who was 
sitting in her marble stillness, the very beau ideal of a 
Homan matron. The renowned Bronze Wolf is alarming- 
ly ugly — -just the kind of thing one might suppose would 
be struck with lightning. 

D insisted upon mounting the Tower of the Capi- 
tol. As it was rather warm, I declined, and took a seat 
at the base of the equestrian statue of Marcus Antoninus 
until his return. Here I was assailed by any amount of 
vagabonds, and compelled at last to take refuge in the 
Church of " Ara Coeli," — but there were more beggars in- 
side than out, so I was glad to mount the Tower in order 
to escape persecution. This climbing of steeples was 
never a favorite amusement of mine. It has a tread-mill 
air about it confoundedly disagreeable, and one don't feel 
at home so far above one's neighbors. I got enough of 
fresh air for a season the morning we ascended St. Peter's, 
besides being compelled to remain at least five minutes in 

that infernal copper ball up there, because I stuck 

fast in the aperture, and could neither get up or down. 
It was horrible ! The heated atmosphere and copper 
taste, from the action of the hot sun without, was enough 
to stifle a dog, while the effort to hurry the fat man 
through only increased our torment. It was like being 
buried alive in a cursed still. I should have skinned poor 

I like an eel, rather than have stayed there another 

minute. I shall crawl into no more balls, at least in ad- 
vance of ambitious fat men. I don't want to immortalize 
myself by any such manoeuvre. One would look well 



154 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD, 

"corked up" in- the Ball of St. Peter, like a monster in a 
bottle, " solitary and alone," to reflect upon the grandeur 
of one's tomb. 



April 13, 



Walked out the Appian Way to the tomb of Cecilia 
Metella, and from there to the new church of St. Paul. 
It will be very magnificent when finished ; but it is ridicu- 
lous to waste so much money on a church in a neighbor- 
hood scarcely habitable one half the year, on account of 
the Maremme. On our return, we took a glance at the 
Catacombs. They are immense in extent, but rather un- 
pleasant places to be wandering about in. When w^e got 
to our hotel, the valet told us there was " a fete" at the 
Doria Yilla. Without thinking, we jumped into the car- 
riage, and drove to the Villa. We had scarcely entered 
before we discovered that, instead of a rustic fete as we 
had imagined, the aristocracy of Rome were revelling. 
There was an abundance of "white kids" and dress vestg, 
and as we had not been invited, it was thought advisable 
to retreat. I felt like kicking our valet, as far as the 
walls of the city, and then throwing him over. But the 
poor devil did not know any better. He thought we would 
like to look on. He had no idea that American equality 
either participates or withdraws. They will never learn 
the American character in Europe. We are no doubt a 
gaping, intruding people, but we never ofi*end with the con- 
sciousness of a secondary character. We murder in the 
first degree, and when we make up our mind to look at an 
emperor, we assume the emperor too, for the occasion. 

That Doria Yilla is a lovely spot. Nature and art 
seemed to have vied with each other to beautify it — but 
rumor says it is unhealthy. There are many fine villas 
about Rome- — but they want the blue Mediterranean to 



SCENES ON THE ROAD. 155 

equal those of Kaples. Most of them are thrown open to 
the public, and the Borghese is a favorite Sunday resort. 
The game of "II Moro" goes on in its neighborhood quite 
as extensively as " Thimble Rig" on one of our race- 
courses. It seems to be the only game indulged in here. It 
requires too much practice for a stranger to attempt, and 
I suspect his education would be a costly business among 
such swindlers as these. 



LEAF XIV. 

**FIIIENZA LA BELLA." 

Five days of vetturino travelling is no slight matter. 
One must get up at two in the morning, and then have to 
race all day long with the other carriages, in order to get 
a bed at night. I cannot imagine what would have be- 
come of us if our horses had not been so good; we should 
certainly have starved on the route. Our carriage was 
the sixth that left the gates of Rome on the 17th of April 
for Florence. We were too lazy to start early on the first 
morning, and our poor horses had to make up for this 
deficiency in our own energy. We had three elegant 
black steeds and a capital driver. We had given a good 
price, and promised an extraordinary "buona mana," if 

his driving answered our expectations. I , D , 

and T had the inside ; Q and myself took the 

front. 

It was after seven o'clock A. M. before we crossed the 
Tiber ; our lead and oif horse were perfection — real devils. 



15G WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

In three hours' time they brought us in sight of our oppo- 
nents ! It wanted but an hour to the breakfast station^ 
and in vetturino travelling every thing depends upon com- 
ing first to the different stopping places — particularly at 
night — for there is generally but one good hotel, and when 
thirty or forty are to be accommodated, beds are at a 
premium — to say nothing of the entire consumption of 
food by the early comers. An Italian larder is never 
very productive, and rarely stands the fierce assault of the 
famished travellers. The first carriage we passed submit- 
ted without a struggje. I noticed De Brescia and some 
other Frenchmen in it. The second contained the Spa- 
niards who had been my neighbors at the table d'hote. I 
thanked my stars as we brushed by them, for if they ever 
get in first, it will be famine for the hindmost. No 3 
had four horses, with courier and servant-maid in the rum- 
ble. We failed in our first dash at them, and they kept 
the road. My lady's maid laughed at our ambitious at- 
tempt, but I told her to w^ait a moment. A short distance 
further, and we came to the top of a hill. Now our forte 
was down hill, and we gave the off-horse, Bucephalus, the 

rein, Q , the driver and myself holding on to the 

break. The postillion saw us coming down upon him like 
mad. My lady's maid set up a scream, expecting to be 
run into. The ruse succeeded. They gave us the road, 
and we flew by deliciously. I had just time to see Beauty 
and the Beast in the carriage. Here, however, our victo- 
rious career was stopped by an English posting party. It 
is contrary to law to pass post horses, so we attempted to 
bribe their postillion ; but it was no go. We had to keep 
the rear, until they changed horses, which gave us the 
lead. 

At the breakfasting station we found a party of four 
Dutch girls and ^^Mama." They had left Rome two 



THE ^^TUG OF WAR." 157 

hours in advance of us, and declared their intention to 
keep the lead throughout — up to the very gates of Flo- 
rence. We laughed at the idea. That night they cer- 
tainly did get to Civita Castellana before us ; but then we 
were kept back by the infernal post carriage. We came 
in third best, and had quite a row before we could succeed 
in procuring a bed a-piece. The maitre d'hotel could not 
imagine why we objected to two in a bed. I told him if 
he could arrange it with the handsome French woman, I 
would be delighted to share with her ; but, as to sleeping 
with a man, it was uncivilized and unnatural. The English 
party consisted of two women; they had only a courier 
with them, and looked like crab-apples. By dint of a lit- 
tle hard swearing, we succeeded in arranging for ourselves, 
but what became of the other parties is a mystery. 

The next morning we rose at two o'clock A. M. got 
the lead, and kept it all the way to Terni. Here we had 
plenty of time left to see the Falls. They are some three 
or four miles from the town — much prettier than Tivoli, 
but scarcely deserving that glorious description of Byron's. 

Our third day's drive brought us to Foligno. We saw 
nothing of our opponents during the day, as Foligno is 
quite a large town, and has several hotels. We got into 
miserable quarters here. The dinner was abominable, and 
the scoundrel pretended not to know how an omelette was 
made. We soon taught him. 

Our next day's work was the "tug of war." The dis- 
tance was greater, and there was only one hotel for the 
whole party, and that in no very good repute. They all 

got the start of us, owing to D 's determination to eat 

boiled eggs before setting out. It was a well-contested 
race ; our horses, to be sure, had already acquired a repu- 
tation, and it was known that we could and would pay 
damages. The Spanish party fought hard ; they kept 

14 



158 TfILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

their horses on the run some three or four miles, but it 
■was no use — we glided by them under a quiet trot. The 
Dutch struggle was less violent, but more persevering. 
They seemed determined to give us some trouble before 
we snatched the laurel ; but some hilly ground in the 
neighborhood of Trasimene decided in our favor, and " soli- 
tary and alone" our carriage rolled along the shores of 
that beautiful lake, leaving our adversaries far in the rear. 

It was just four o'clock when we reached Persigniano, 
and we had even roamed as far as the Sanguinetto and 
back again before the other carriages drove up. Out of 
compassion, vre surrendered our rooms to the ladies, and 
took the attic. The Spanish and French party in despair 
had stopped short of Trasimene. The Dutch girls still 
declared their intention of getting into Florence before us. 

The fifth day brought us to Levano, where we got a 
capital breakfast — indeed, the only decent meal we had. 
At Arezzo the servant got alarmed at our consumption of 
material. I never had such an appetite in my life. At 
Levano we again, in a spirit of magnanimity, gave up our 
rooms, with the proviso that the English were not to have 
them. Beauty looked divine, but the Beast was in a pet, 
because his horses were not so good as ours. The maitre 
d'hotel insisted upon our accepting an additional bottle of 
wine in consideration of our amiability. 

We were now only thirty miles from Florence, and had 
resolved to take it quite leisurely the next day. At the 
breakfasting station w^e found all except the Dutch party ; 
they had not yet come up ; but we had scarcely seated 
ourselves at table before their carriage rattled by at a 
killing pace, with six horses and an additional postillion. 
They laughed and waved their handkerchiefs as they 
passed. — They were going without breakfast, in order to 
reach Florence before us. We called our vetturino, told 



"there they arEj by jove!" 159 

him he should have another dollar if he overtook them, 
and gave him a tremendous bumper of wine. "Good!" 
sa^^s he, and in half an hour we had six horses too, and 
were off. By Jove ! it was spirited driving ; but we saw 
nothing of our Amazonian challengers. Mile after mile 
we pushed on wickedly under a mid-day sun — our driver 
half drunk and our favorite steed Bucephalus absolutely 
snorting with excitement. Bets ran high, and already the 
Cathedral dome of Florence rose in the distance ! Things 
were getting desperate, and we were rising the last hill of 
our hope. We mounted it with trepidation ; we made a 
short turn to the right, and, " There they are, by Jore*"!" 

screamed I . We had them — scarcely fifty j^ards 

ahead of us ! They were taken all aback ; and we dashed 
by them with a shout before their driver could give his 
horses the rein. We were but a mile from the gates of 
Florence ! One of the girls broke her sunshade from mere 
vexation of spirit, and the postillion shook his head in de- 
spair, as though it were idle to contend with that team ! 

Florence is crowded. We could get no rooms at 
the Hotel York, but have comfortable apartments in 
the Hotel Suisse. Florence is a clean looking place, 
and the diiference between the smiling faces of the 
Florentines and the scowl of the Romans, is very ap- 
parent. T has been here several days, having 

taken the route by Civita Yecchia and Leghorn. I 
must make an excursion to Pisa and Lucca. 



160 WILD OATS^ SOWN ABROAD. 



LEAF XXV. 

FLOEENCE. 

April 23, --. 

We mounted the Campanile this morning, and got 
a snuff of fresh air. The guide, though he did smell 
shockingly of garlic, gave us a tolerably correct idea 
of the different sections of the city, and the situation 
of the churches worth visiting. It evidently saves us 

the expense of a map. T is rather averse to lofty 

positions. He hugged the balustrade of the Campanile 
with the energy of despair, and could scarcely be per- 
suaded to take the look perpendicular. He was never 
born for a "samphire gatherer." He is now in train- 
ing for the dizzy heights of Switzerland. If he holds 
on to the cliffs with the crab-like tenaciousness which 
he exercised this morning, there will be some danger 
of his unsettling them, and we shall all roll into the 
valley together. 

The Duomo has a very singular appearance ; I 
do not know whether I like it or not. The sights 
of Florence are at very convenient distances from 
each other, and one can " do them up" in a few 
days. The Palazzp Vecchia looks as stern and for- 
bidding as the lawless democracy that so often ran riot 
within its walls. We had to ascend to the upper 
story before we could find the custode, (no small 
matter, considering our previous ascent of the Cam- 
panile,) and then were barely repaid for our labor. 
The paintings do not possess any extraordinary merit, 



THE RAVEN-IIAIKS^ ONE ! 161 



and the portrait of Bianca Capello completely de- 
stroyed my ideal of that notorious creature. It has 
vulgarity stamped upon every feature. The David of 
Angelo, which stands on the square in front of the Palazzo, 
is mean. It looks like a famished boy who has out- 
grown his strength, or labors under the ravages of a 
tapeworm. Even the genius of Angelo could not 
mantle that lean marble's infirmities. In the Loggia, 
by the side of the Palazzo, is some fine sculpture ; 
and in the centre of the square stands Cosmo him- 
self, in all the dignity of his character. 

Most of the churches in Florence are unfinished, 
and the palaces have a gloomy, feudal appearance, 
recording with their iron bars and rfiassive stone, the 
violence of the age their architect flourished in. The 
girls look saucy, liberal, and well-fed. There is a 
whole room full of milliners just ' opposite my window. 
Some of them look enterprising enough to scale a 
wall ; and my morning salute is returned with as 
dazzling 'an array of white teeth as ever paralyzed 
a dentist. One of them has a head of hair which 
the "wing of darkness" must have brooded over. My 
sight weakens in the brilliancy of its gloss. She 
lays her hand upon it, and, though a brunette, the 
contrast pales the fingers to ivory. One bay-flower 
dashed into the midnight of that hair would shame 
the richest jewel in the ducal coronet. I don't gene- 
rally deal in a platonic exchange of such trifles, but 
I really would accept a lock of that creature's affec- 
tions. Shall I send the valet for it, or go myself? 
Perhaps the most convenient way will be to send for 
her — it will give a more flattering evidence of my 

confidence in her liberality. This atmosphere enlarges 
L 14,^ 



162 WILD OATS, SOW^ ABROAD. 

one's views of society, and creates a desire for a 
more extensive range of social freedom. Is it phil- 
osophy or vice that predisposes one to look lightly 
upon this discord in the tone of the moral world? — 
but still, if one dip be a "false harmony," it is 
excusable to play out of tune in some portion of it. 

April 24. 
Took a run through the gallery Imperiale ; met 
T in the tribune, gazing on the Yenus di Me- 
dici. She is no doubt faultless, but I prefer the 
Naples rival. What treasures of Art does this little 
room contain ! Whichever way you turn, some im- 
mortal creation greets your eye. Every picture is a 
gem, and et^ery piece of marble a notoriety ; the 
disputed knife-grinder stoops life-like by the side of 
the all-conquering goddess ; the intricate contortion of 
the angry wrestlers contrasts well with the easy, 
joyful abandonment of the Dancing Fawn; and the 
god of Music closes with his entrancing face this 
circle of exclusives. From the canvas the naked 
forms of Titian dazzle you, and the Fornarini en- 
chants. The only common-looking picture in the room 
is a Virgin by Angelo, which it is to be hoped is 
rather admired as a rarity than for any beauty dis- 
coverable in it ; there is not one quality of the 
Virgin apparent in the picture. It is a coarse, cross- 
looking, middle-aged woman, more like the mother of 
a large family, than the sainted Madonna. Niobe 
and her Children have also a room to themselves. I 
was disappointed in the group. The face of the 
mother is poetry, but the children appeared rather 
theatrically "got up." The Mercury of John of Bologna 
is truly wonderful ; the gossamer does not mount the air 



HEAVEN AND HELL ! 163 

with an easier grace. Tlie blue-hooded Magdalene of 
Sassafarato is Heaven itself. One could give the world to 
call her back from celestial glorj to the contamination of 
sense. What a charm does such a picture give to Reli- 
gion ! Talk of mind and its daring comprehension of the 
great unknown — of imagination and its bright conceptions 
of bliss beyond the grave — what are their cold and unem- 
bodied subtleties compared to the rapturous divinity which 
glows from the canvas and fascinates the eye until the 
heart worships, and fretful reason smooths itself to faith 
because faith is so beautiful ? That one face has a spell 
fruitful as the blood of the martyrs ; — but bless me ! this 
sounds like Mahometanism ! If Sassafarato's Magdalene 
is Heaven, there is but one step thence to Hell, which is 
the Head of Medusa, by Caravaggio, in a neighboring 
room. It is " horribly beautiful" — deliciously damnable ! 
It makes one's hair stand on end ; such a livid, snaky, 
gory, mutilated fright. Heavens ! to have those nasty 
reptiles hanging like matted locks about one's forehead ! 
It is worthy the gloomy pencil of Caravaggio. 

We strolled afterwards into the Church of Santa Croce. 
It is crowded with monuments to the illustrious dead — 
Galileo, Machiavelli, Angelo, Aretino, and Alfieri ; but 
none of them have the slightest originality of design. 
Sculpture-painting and architecture figure, of course, upon 
Angelo's tomb, and hope and charity inhabit the rest. 

Upon entering the church, Q , not wishing to throw 

away his half-smoked cigar, thrust it, not quite extinguished, 
into his coat-pocket. We had not been there long before 
he came to me and asked if I did not smell something 
burning. "I said "no," though I suspected the cause. 
He walked on, with the smoke curling from his coat-tail, 
totally unconscious of the mischief, while T and my- 
self stood convulsed with laughter. Again and again he 



164 WILD OATSj SOWN ABROAD. 

approached me, and asserted positively that something 
must be burning. We told him it was the incense. At 
last the. old sexton, seeing the secret conflagration, came 

rushing up the church, and seized Q by the coat-tail 

with the anxiety of a father. " What the deuce is the old 

fellow about ?" says Q . I thought I should burst a 

blood-vessel. T roared, and poor Q discovered 

that he had not only lost his cigar by the operation, but 
had destroyed two-thirds of a very respectable coat-tail. 
The old sexton was too much alarmed to enjoy the joke, 

and he probably imagined that T and myself must be 

the " devil's own" to allow a fellow creature thus to make 
a lucifer match of himself. But we had a high moral pur- 
pose in view, which was to teach Q to be less economi- 
cal in the cigar line. An American should never smoke a 
once extinguished cigar. 

The flower-girls of Florence are a nuisance. One can 
scarcely walk out without an attack of bouquets. It 
sounds pretty enough in poetry to take flower§. when the 
beauty of the gift is even surpassed by the beauty of the 
giver ; but with such ordinary, characterless Kydias as 
these, one would rather be excused all contact. Flowers 
were not made to be hawked about by impudent girls. 
They are frail and gentle things, and the eye that solicits 
you to accept them should sink at its own impulsive rash- 
ness, and not invite your gaze with a licentiousness of 
look too marked. to be agreeable. How few women, after 
all, know how to use their weapons ! They owe their con- 
quests more to man's eagerness to be overcome than to 
their own skill. Enjoy them and the chain dissolves, not 
because the man is satiated, but because the woman is un- 
skilled and ignorant of her resources. She studies to win 
and not to keep, and, like Pyrrhus, her victory is her ruin, 
^how me a woman who is complete master of her resources. 



a TTA^rr r.m" 



THE " HAMLET OF SCULPTURE. 165 

you will find lier victim once is her victim for ever. She 
is the conqueror of custom, habit, and satiety — she can 
defy change. 



April 25 
Michael Angelo is avenged ! and before the tomb of 
Lorenzo de Medici I recognize the sovereignty of his 
genius. Originality, beauty, solemnity — all that combines 
to catch the eye and awaken reflection, is there, stamped 
in the immortality of marble. The simple arrangement of 
the seated figure is kingly, and in the shaded and half-seen 
features the very soul of meditation dreams its solemn 
visions. It is the Hamlet of sculpture. Perhaps a shade 
too gloomy, but then his footstool is a tomb, and his 
thoughts are of the grave. His Day and Night are less 
intelligible, but not the less striking. The costly chapel 
of the Medici is not even a gorgeous folly, and if the 
rarity and value of its materials were not carefully pointed 
out, one would pass through it without the slightest idea 
of the unparalleled extravagance of its founder. In one 
of the cloisters attached to the Church of Annunziati is a 
Madonna del Sacca, considerably damaged, but with as 
heavenly a face as any in Italy. It deserves careful pre- 
servation, and were I an artist, it should not want a copy- 
ing. The pictures of Era Angelico, though remarkable 
productions for their age, and interesting to students, are 

strange affairs. Q admires them vastly, but upon my 

soul ! I can see nothing in them worth wasting time over. 
This may be a want of taste. His Annunciation is deci- 
dedly ludicrous.; and in spite of the gravity of our guide and 
Q , I could not help laughing outright at the perform- 
ance. It is hard to tell whether the angel intends alight- 
ing or returning again ; and, as to the Virgin, she appears 
any thing but satisfied at the arrangement. Then there is 



366 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD, 

an immense flower-garden to fill up the foreground, and 
Linnaeus himself would have been puzzled to death to clas- 
sify the good father's plants. The toilet of the party is 
original in the extreme, and shows an advanced stage of 
scenic ef[ect. The wing of the angel is reversed, and 
when in motion Vvould counteract the other. However, his 
pictures are said to have been painted during fits of inspi- 
ration ; and such things have a license in them not accor- 
ded to the natural and common-place. 

Apart from sight-seeing Florence is rather dull. The 
great era of the day is the afternoon drive on the Cascino, 
or a Avalk in the Boboli Gardens, neither of which pos- 
sesses positive charms for an adventurous spirit. The 
theatres are good, and they are moderate in price. 

At the representation of "II Bravo" I saw as sweet 
looking a girl as ever tantalized a St. Anthony ; she looked 
every thing ; but what the devil is a man to do when he can 
not speak the language ? After playing footman to her 
carriage, and wafting her an adieu in the most approved 
fashion, I went and consoled myself with a chat with the 
charming Nina — who by the way must be a descendant of 
the Sforzas — she has the imperious air of loyalty, and dis- 
penses her favors with the caprice of a sultana. My dark 
haired Milliner looks sad — does she think me fickle, or is 
it the fever of afi*ection ? as Donna Julia sighs — " I'll ne'er 

consent, and yet consented." P is fanning a Platonic 

attachment, and feeds his Inamorata's window with a daily 
Bouquet — well, it is a cheap ofi'ering — " Ex nihil, nihil fit." 

T and Q are amusing themselves in the same 

quarter — poor thing ! can she withstand such a legion ? — 
she lives across the way, and these villainous conspirators 
sit in the dark and watch their prey at her nightly toilet 

from their window ; D gives the signal,^ " Douse the 

glim!" and immediately the candles are ''dead as a nail," 



THE MODERN SUSANNAH. 167 

and there they crouch opera glass in hand, peering like 
excited elders at the innocent and unconscious Susannah. 

C goes to bed half delirious, and wonders how such 

things can be and overcome us like a summer cloud, while 

T sneaks to the embrace of the "Doctor's daughter." 

Oh ! Man ! Man ! what an unaccountable creature thou 
art ! One seems to wrap himself up in the stoicism of 
Philosophy — another in the self-denying vestment of reli- 
gion — one absorbs all passion in the singleness and con- 
stancy of his only love — another sacrifices all to his dar- 
ling avarice — glory consumes the hero — cards the gamester 
— yet one little leg, one swelling bosom, one toilet seen 
through the twilight of a maiden's chamber — sweeps Phi- 
losopher — Love — Priest — all risk the general whirlpool of 
sense, "and the devil laughs at the impotence of his poor 
victims. 



LEAF XXVI 

IN AND ABOUT FLORENCE. 

May 2. 

Q and myself have just returned from an excursion 

to Lucca and Pisa, after having enjoyed in the full the 
beauties of vetturino travelling. We had stipulated for 
the entire carriage to ourselves, though we were not at all 
astonished at the presence of another inside and one outside 
passenger, perfectly satisfied if things would get no worse 
in the course of the journey. We passed through Pistoia 
and Pescia, and reached Lucca time enough the same day 
to finish the sights. I thought our guide to the cathedral 



168 WILD OATS, SOWN ABKOAD. 

at Lucca would never get through his elaborate eulogies 
upon every thing it contained, and I was glad to escape at 
last from his enthusiasm to the quiet promenade on the 
ramparts. The country around Lucca is one of the most 
fertile and carefully cultivated I have yet seen. The 
roads are almost straight lines, Vfith scarcely three feet 
of rise or fall for miles of surface, — and the people all 
have the satisfied air of the Florentines. 

We left Lucca early the next day, and singular to record 
had the carriage to ourselves. By 10, A. M., we were at 
Pisa ; here our vetturino gave us miserable quarters, and 
left us with the promise of being ready at 5 o'clock next 
morning to take us to Florence. Tie spent the day in 
lounging about the Duomo, and trying to admire the fres- 
coes of the Campo Santo. Q succeeded in getting up 

a considerable amount of inflatus, though not without some 
effort. I could not see any thing very pleasing in the con- 
fused and half-obliterated figures that crowd the walls, and 
as for their excellence I am not connoissieur enough to ■ 
detect it. There are some fine pictures in the cathedral, 
and I was sorry we had not entered it at an earlier hour, 
as the approach of evening prevented us from seeing some 
of them very distinctly. We lay two or three hours on 
the grass looking at the Leaning Tower, and finally mus- 
tered energy enough to ascend it. If a blind man made 
the ascent, he would be rather puzzled at such a singular 
method of rising. There is apparently more down hill 
than up, and when one rounds the leaning side, the accel- 
eration of pace acquired takes av/ay all the effort in mount- 
ing the rise. To look down from above did not strike me 
as such a fearful sight, for the parapet prevents one from 
noticing the awful inclination. It looks more like a tower 
in the very act of falling, when seen from below, especially 
if you obstruct your vieAv of the uppermost part by placing 



HEY, PRESTO, CHANGE ! 169 

your hand over your eyes. It is truly a very remarkable 
and very beautiful architectural monster, whether the 
result of accident or design is immaterial. 

At 5 o'clock next morning we were ready to depart for 
Florence, in the hope of reaching there in time for the 
table d'hote. Hour after hour passed away, but no vettu- 
rino ; — at last, about half past eight o'clock, a miserable 
looking equipage drove up to the door with two women 
inside, and a host of band-boxes on the top. The driver 
had a villainous cock of the eye, and it was perfectly impos- 
sible to catch his look. He announced himself as the 
brother of the party who had conducted us tius far, and 
declared his fixed intention of bringing us to Florence with 
the aid of two changes of horses, in time for dinner. 
Enraged as I was at this hocus pocus attempt to gammon 
us, I could not help laughing at the turn-out before me, 
and the unspeculative look of the villain's eye. The oif- 
horse had the elephantis in both legs ; they had been 
scored down with a knife like dead mutton or the young 
bark of a tree. The near horse had let down in the left 
shoulder, and when once started, had to keep on for fear 
of falling on his nose. The driver was screaming at them 
all the time, as if dreadfully afraid they would run away. 
I asked him how far the efficiency of this team was to bo 
tested. He threw his "cock-eye" upon the oii-horse which 
seemed the favorite, and swore by the sainted Virgin they 
should be changed 14 miles out. As I did not wish 
to incommode the women, who were not the handsomest in 
the world, I took my seat by his side, and assisted to the 
best of my ability in getting our chargers fairly started. 
After going sixteen miles, I ventured to remind strabismus 
of his promise. He smiled spasmodically, and a painful 
doubt crossed my mind. We came at last to a consider- 
able village. Here he descended — took out the horses^ 
..-■■' 15 



170 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

disappeared with them ; and after some fifteen minntes* 
absence returned, leading the identical animals forward. 
I tried to look severe. The scoundrel proceeded with all the 
gravity of a Turk, to change the position of the horses, 
making elephantis this time the near-horse, and having 
hitched them, took his seat, and flourished his whip with 
all the enthusiasm of a new movement. There was no use 
in remonstrating, and I contented myself with enquiring 
if the next change was of a similar kind — for, if it was, we 
would dispense with the ceremony. After two more hours 
of semi-locomotion, he got a bid for us at last, and we 
were transferred to a new party, with a somewhat better 
equipage. These sales upon the road are very frequent in 
vetturino travelling, and without a strong agreement to the 
contrary, you will find yourself disposed of before you are 
aware of it. We did not succeed in reaching Florence 
until sunset. The road was very dusty, and the sooner 
they provide a railroad for travellers to cross it, the better 
for the peace of mind of the Grand Duke of Tuscany.* 

i May 3. 

Florence is a very paradise for loafers. From a three 
hours' toilet in the morning one passes to Doney's, and 
feeds upon eggs, coffee, and delicious bread and butter, for 
which one paul (about ten cents) is paid ; then a stride 
through the Gallery Imperiale is just sufficiently fatiguing 
to make one enjoy an ice or a lemonade which will cost half 
a paul. An hour may be consumed with the refreshing 
liquid, and in a luxuriant revival of strength. One may 
then drop over the Arno — sink into a cushioned seat of 
the Pitti Palace, and gaze on the Madonna de Seggiola of 

* There is now a railroad, and a very excellent one, from Leg- 
horn, via Pisa, direct to Florence, and thence branching to Sienna. 
—Ed. a. C. 



THE DEATH SCENE OF CLEOPATRA ! 171 

Raphael — sweet purification of the wanton Fornarina ! 
Almost bj her side is the Gitana-looking Virgin of Murillo ; 
— a turn of the head, and the lovely, guileless, glorious 
Judith of Allori stands like some female Macbeth, whose 
hand is soiled with murder, but whose thoughts are noble 
and whose breast still harbors the milk of human kindness 
— strange contrast between the cruel clutch of her fingers 
in his matted hair, and the soft, womanly beauty of her 
dark eyes and full, warm lips. The next room will pre- 
sent you with the luscious death-scene of Cleopatra, and 
for a moment you will cease to sneer at the infatuation 
which lost a world to bask in such charms. A memory 
perhaps will come over you of younger days, when the 
anxious, politic, intriguant life of Augustus seemed to 
your fancy but a miserable destiny compared to that of 
the passionate worshipper and victim of Egypt's queen ; 
but this weakness will vanish as your eye falls upon the 
" Sister Fates" of Angelo, and the gloomy " Conspirators" 
of Salvator Rosa. They call you back to a life of action, 
a thirst for power ; the inexorable calmness, the cold in- 
humanity which frames our destiny without a sigh, sits 
upon every feature of those withered women, and inspires 
one with a sort of defiance to live on and endure in spite 
of fate, while the dark energy of the arch conspirator 
Cataline looks proud disdain upon the weakness that dare 
not aspire to be great even in crime itself. When your 
eye grows weary of the canvas, pass through these price- 
less halls of painted treasure and feast awhile upon the 
Venus of Canova — the marble sister of Napoleon — you 
will find her somewhat thin and a trifle too bashful, but 
still attractive ; then call at the studio of Power, where 
Eve and the Grecian captive will charm you till dinner. 
They rank very properly among the finest pieces of modern 
sculpture; without having that classical severity of the 



172 WILD OATS, SOWN AEEOAD. 



ancient Ideal, they have all their beauty and just enough 
of earth to keep them out of heaven. Eve is a real v/o- 
man, and quite persuaded me that nature can compete 
successfully with the unrealized idea of the old sculptor. 
The Grecian captive is a sweet creation, and, when finished 
America may attach her label to the best sculptor in the 
world. Truly we are a great people. 

After dinner, which will cost fi^e pauls, a drive on the 
Cascine can be introduced with propriety, as the Floren- 
tine fashionables have agreed to do the same. One may 
thus consume an hour upon the. meadows, coquetting with 
whatever may cross your path, from a ducal hare or phea- 
sant to a duchess ; but it is best to avoid any thing walking 
with a child or speaking the English tongue ; the one will 
generally be a craft suspect, or " long, low, black schooner" 
— the other a bore. By this time the sun sets and the 
theatre opens. The age of poetry commences, and one 
sinks into bed with the notes of "II Bravo" or " Torquato 
Tasso," murmuring in one's ears — or perhaps a more tan- 
gible luxury exists in yonder slumber. So fades day after 
day, like Banquo's issue — one fatal resemblance stamped 
on all, until the ennuied soul cries out — "I'll see no 
more ! 

Sweet Florence ! How unlike that once turbulent city 
whose fierce factions stained thy ducal threshold with fra- 
tricide, and blurred the finest pages of thy history with 
ingratitude ! In the peaceful loungers of the Boboli Gar- 
dens who could recognize the descendants of that restless 
democracy, whose law was vengeance, whose liberty was 
license ? or who, in regarding the enlightened policy which 
marks the present rule of Tuscany, could dream that the 
idiotic sv>^ay of the bastard Medici was once observed and 
respected ? Nothing is left of former despotism here but 
the evidence of its refined luxury. The vices and the law 



A EULOGY ON TUSCANY. 173 



lessness which made it despicable are forgotten, and the 
stranger's eje can feast upon its magnificence without be- 
ing shocked at the abuses of government, or the degrada- 
tion of the people. Tuscany presents the only specimen I 
have yet seen in Italy, of a good administration of affairs 
and a contented people. The soldiers are few and civil. 
The court is economical, yet gay ; aristocratic, yet acces- 
sible. The galleries and public places are thrown open at 
all times free of expense, free of annoyance. The liberty 
of the press can scarcely be called restricted, and theatri- 
cal representations have unbounded license. There is an 
abundance— a cheapness — a goodness of almost every 
thing. This proves the absence of exorbitant taxation, 
and might be inducement enough to detain the stranger, 
even if Florence had not those advantages of beauty and 
art which she so eminently possesses.- What an eulogium 
from a republican. Well ! I should like to snatch a little 
literary leisure here : but then travellers cannot read ; 
always excepting Galignani's Newspaper and the Guide- 
Book. They are the traveller's oracle, his authority, his 
thermometer. He reads them with the same care an old 
woman does the almanac, and regards their theories and 
calculations with the same degree of reverence. 



15* 



174 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



LEAF XXVII. 

BOLOGNA. 

May 14. 

We left Florence with the same vetturino who had 

brought us from Rome. In the place of D n and 

I , we had T and D r. Q and myself 

occupied, as usual, the front seat. 

The road between Florence and Bologna is nothing but 
a succession of hills, and affords little to interest the tra- 
veller. Being anxious to reach Bologna early the next 
day, we proceeded rather farther than the customary day's 
journey, and were 'rewarded for our haste by miserable 
quarters for the night. The dinner, too, was execrable. 
This generally is one of the first effects on entering the 

dominions of his Holiness. T and D r-r were ^ 

somewhat shocked at their first essay in this species of 
locomotion, and they were unanimous in declaring it to be 
their last use of the vetturino mode. 

It was almost night when we reached our stopping place ; 
but then we had the pleasure of watching a real Claude 
sunset, from its first glow to its death-shroud. It was a 
pure Italian sunset, with all its characteristics — its harmony 
— its grandeur — its loveliness. We were among the Appe- 
nines, and the eye strayed over the vine and the olive. 
There were the dark blue hills and the deep blue sky ; and 
the last gleam of its setting smile was playing upon the 
white walls of Filigare. There were peasant girls with 
their roguery, and beggars with their piteous supplication. 



A EEAL CLAUDE SUNSET. 175 

From each valley came the solemn peal of vesper, and the 
roadside had its chapels and images of the Madonna. The 
purple and gold of the " dying dolphin" lay soft and lan- 
guid upon the hazy heights, and the soul of man, as he 
gazed upon this glory of Italy, involuntarily exclaimed, 
" How beautiful !" I have seen many rich and varied 
sunsets at home, on our lakes and among our mountains ; 
they are much more brilliant, and have a bolder, more 
confused, unsettled, and varied coloring — ^but they want 
that soft, misty veil which gives to the Italian sunset its 
depth, its languor, its repose — they want the enervating 
climate, and that poetry of art which breathes from all 
man's works when hallowed by time ; and, above all, they 
want that state of feeling which travel in Italy generates, 
and which in fact is half the enjoyment of the boasted 
Italian sunset. There is a landscape in the Pitti Palace 
by Claude Lorraine, where he seems to have snatched 
Heaven's own dyes in their sweetest hour. Whoever has 
looked at that picture, has seen the successful rival of 
nature. ^ But what is a sunset either here or at home if its 
mellow light be not reflected from our lady's eyes ? Asso- 
ciation is the beautifier of Heaven's drapery. Without 
that, its most gorgeous glory is but tinsel. 

Bologna is full of Austrian soldiers. A revolutionary 
spirit has been discovered among the Papal troops, and 
they have just finished shooting some six or seven officers 
in the market-place. We were not in time to witness the 
execution. There are rumors of another batch to follow 
shortly. Curse this foreign interference ! Were it not for 
Austria, the Papal rule would soon be extinct in Bologna. 
They always were a restless sort of characters. Bologna 
was once famous for its picture galleries ; but few now 
remain. The Academy di Belli Arte has some magnificent 
paintings. We spent nearly the whole day looking at 



J 76 WILD OATS, SOW^ ABROAD. 

them. The St. Cecelia of Raphael, the St. Jerome of 
Caracci, aiid the Massacre of the Innocents by Guido, are 
well worth a ride from Florence, even to an indifferent 

admirer of the fine arts. D is flirting out the window 

with a little Erench woman. I must go and help him. 

M^Y 15. 

Went to the Bacchiorchi Palace. The family not being 
at home, we were led through the whole range of private 
apartments — billiard room, dining room, sitting room, con- 
cert room, sleeping apartments ; and, at the end, a noble 
Jjall, containing statues, busts and portraits of the whole 
Napoleon family — the sculpture by Canova ; the painting 
by David. Madame Mere looked majesty itself. Pauline, 
though rather Frenchified in attitude, has a winning face ; 
and Caroline Murat has all that energy of character about 
the lines of the mouth which she displayed in the government 
of a kingdom ; but still the brow and eyes of tFosephine, in 
the midst of this imperial beauty, bears away the palm. 
Nature's queen stands avenged, and the Hapsburg bride 
had better decline the honor of such a close companionship 
with the dethroned rival. It is a highly interesting collec- 
tion. Q took a tremendous walk in the hot sun to 

some convent or Campo Santo in the neighborhood, to look 
at some paintings by St. Luke. I have seen several of 
this apostle's efi'orts in the fine arts, and, considering the 
age in which he lived and his former calling, they are 
quite creditable afi'airs. One would suppose that a fisher- 
man would have made choice of water colors; but he must 
have had an eye to posterity in his selection of oil. How 
supremely absurd to make a Sir Joshua Reynolds out of 
St. Luke ! Wonder if the Council of Trent passed their 
opinion upon these inspired works ? There is neither 
reason nor necessity in such imposture. 



TASSO AND BYRON. 177 



To-morrow we start for Venice, with a new vetturino. 
Our old one began to play the scamp, too, and attempted 
to charge ns an infamous price, on the supposition that we 
were partial to him, and would be too lazy to look up 
another; but we "whisked him oiF" in a torrent of indig- 
nation, and came to the philosophical conclusion that 
honesty is a mere comparative, and forthwith selected the 
most villainous-looking applicant from the crowd to tor- 
ture us to Venice. We shall doubtless have some rare 
sport on the route, and a repetition of the game played 
between Pisa and Florence. I shall be satisfied if it prove 
no worse. Thank Heaven ! it is only two days' duration, 
and one could endure almost any thing that long, except 
pleasure. 



FERRAKA. 

May 16. 

Thus far we have done tolerably well. Our nags would 
scarcely serve as coursers to the sun, but still they brought 
us quite, gallantly in the wake of the Crown Prince of 
Wurtemburg, up to the very gates of Ferrara. 

Our first sally was to Tasso's Prison. I don't say that 
Tasso did not inhabit that cellar — it is neither impossible 
nor dreadful ; yet I allow myself just sufficient skepticism 
to destroy the charm. Byron's name is written too well 
for such a miserable chirographer as he was. It don't 
look natural. Indeed, the whole affair is rather too well 
"got up" for an antique fact. 'Tis pity, and pity 'tis, 'tis 
so. The castle is superb — the very beau ideal of a tyran- 
nizing, treacherous, gloomy stronghold; just such as the 
"serpent broods" of Este might hatch in, and where Pari- 
sina might be immured. 

One is scarcely able to believe that here once reigned 

M 



178 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

the most polished Court in Europe ; that these empty 
palaces — these " wide and grassgrown" streets were once 
filled with thronging thousands. Silence and solitude are 
every where. If only ruin and desolation accompanied 
them, there would be some harmony in the scene, and Fer- 
rara would seem but another Pompeii, or some deserted 
city of the desert ; but here are miles of noble edifices, 
which time has vainly touched ; broad and level streets, 
which have not their parallel in Italy, and fine open 
squares, all untenanted — scarcely a human being to be 
seen — no life, no noise ; not the slightest evidence of trade 
nor sign of activity. You pass at once from a narrow 
circle of existence, yet throbbing in the centre to almost 
perfect depopulation in the outspread extremities. It is 
melaHcholy to walk these vacant streets, with nothing but 
your own shadow to mock you with companionship. Even 
the plague would have very little sport here ; and it would 
require but a small amount of fancy to imagine oneself the 
" last man" in the universe. God save me from a solitude 
in such excellent preservation as Ferrara ! 



LEAF XXVIII. 

PADUA. 

Padua, Mat 17. 
As was anticipated, our horses broke down some few 
hours' ride from Rovigo. It was a mournful spectacle. 
The road as level as a floor, and they unable to trot along. 
We joked despairingly upon our prospects. The steeples 
of Rovigo were visible in the distance — but distance lent 



THE "shocking TEAM !" 179 

no enchantment to the view, for our breakfast was there 

also. D and myself took to walking, in the vain 

hope of assuaging our hunger. We met a Savoyard with 
his monkey and organ. We set him to playing in front 
of the horses, fondly hoping he might be some Orpheus in 
disguise — but it was "no go ;" they did not even prick their 
ears at the moving melody, but walked slowly on like the 
first "drops of a thunder-shower," or the lazy stretch of a 
sick frog. We paid the organ-boy for the attempt, and 
discharged him. Even the monkey commiserated our situ- 
ation — he looked back with the air of a jockey ; raised his 
eye-brows to the very top of his head, and with a slight 
degree of emotion, declared as plainly as look could de- 
clare : " Shocking team !" 

We laughed at the rascal's penetration, for there was no 
use in sighing. We had done all that man, monkey, and 
music could do, and resigned ourselves to destiny. We 
were two hours in going five miles. At Rovigo, we got a 
good breakfast and fresh horses ; they brought us to Padua 
by five o'clock. We shall take the rail road to-morrow 
for Venice. We have just finished one of the best dinners 
I have eaten in Italy : and I feel more like going to sleep 

than consulting the inkstand. D has already turned 

in, and seems to have groaned himself to oblivion over the 
idea of rising at five o'clock in the morning. It is dread- 
ful — but then visions of gondolas lure us on, and we must 
glide with the morning sun through the watery streets of 
Venice. I remember one night reading the two Foscari : 
it was my first collegiate year, and the prospect of visiting 
Euii^pe was uncertain, at least far distant. When I came 
to that scene where Foscari dwells upon the magnificence 
of her palaces — the luxury of her festivals — the mysterious 
power of her rulers — in language which only Byron's 
genius could mould — I rose involuntarily, and walking to 



180 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

the open window, lialf-muttered to myself — " Ye gods ! 
shall I never see Venice ?" The ring of the chapel bells 
for prayer answered me sharply — " Not soon — not soon ! 
you pitiful under-graduate !" 

Seven years have passed away, and yonder, almost 
within my grasp, sleeps the '' Ocean City ;" it seems but 
yesternight that I asked the question, though many queries 
have found their answer and fulfilment— yes, their grave — 
between that hour and this ! Strange that it should come 
back upon me with such freshness ! But I am growing 
metaphysical, or I suspect, sleepy. Perhaps I am dream- 
ing now, and may walk out of the window. I will go and 
shut it for precaution sake. It would be well too, to give 

D a shake and get his opinion. Poor fellow ! he 

"would think it was already time to get up, and would beg 
for a little longer indulgence. He is no doubt dreaming 
of the '-Bridge of Sighs." Shade of Badcliife ! hover 
over his pillow ! He ate dinner enough to evoke a thou- 
sand demons to strangle him. 



Venice, May 20. 
I frequently ask myself whether I am really in Venice ! 
I go to the balustrade of my window, and look down the 
grand canal, and sure enough the gondolas are gliding 
about, and some picture of Canalletti seems floating before 
my eyes. Every one has had his dream of Venice. 
Poetry and prose have been exhausted in ambitious at- 
tempts to describe its peculiar appearance — and expres- 
sions, such as genius in its most glorious moods can only 
coin, have been lavished upon this petted darling of 4he 
imagination. It has every charm which grandeur, mystery 
— long-indulged power and story can confer upon it ; and 
it is with no common interest we approach its presence to 
find one ideal in its reality. Perhaps it is the only city 



FLOATINGS IN VENICE. 181 



whose appearance does not disappoint one's expectations, 
and however extravagant one's boyish fancy may have 
fashioned it, still there "will be some resemblance to one's 
visions, in its strange, original, and wondrous aspect. 
Our boat was crowded, and we could get but an indiiferent 
view of the " Ocean City," as w^e crossed the Lagoon. 
The heat of the sun, and the motion of the rowers, pre- 
vented our standing outside of the pavilion, and we had 
to content ourselves with occasional glimpses of its " Tiara 
Towers." 

After about an hour's rovf we were landed at a sort of 
Custom House. Here our baggage was examined, and 
our passports secured. We w^ere then allowed to proceed 
upon our way as best we could. Some gondoliers soon 
seized upon us, and we found ourselves passing noise- 
lessly along the watery street. We had now an opportu- 
nity to observe things. The canal at this place had side- 
walks, and presented quite a bustling appearance. We 
passed several fine churches, and as yet there was no 
appearance of that dilapidation we expected to find. One 
of the gondoliers pointed out the Manfrini Palace to us, 
but we had scarcely time to note it before we turned into 
the grand canal. We were not two hundred yards from 
the Rialto — the gondola dashed across without giving 
us a chance to see the magnificent structures that lined its 
banks ; and we entered a narrow way, in order, by a short 
cut, to strike the grand canal on the opposite side where 
our hotel was situated. Here decay began to show itself. 
We passed many splendid palaces, with the sea-weed hang- 
ing in masses from their slimy steps ; the windows were 
all broken, and the casements and doors boarded over in 
the roughest manner — presenting a melancholy spectacle 
of social desolation. They looked doubly cheerless from 
the presence of the bright noon-day sun playing upon their 

16 



182 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



marble fronts, and not one answering ray of life canir* 
from those once brilliant homes. 

We landed at the Hotel Europa, and after obtaining 
rooms, sallied forth to the Piazza San Marco. The place 
was thronged with people, and in front of the Ducal 
Palace stood a scaffold surrounded by soldiers. Could it 
be possible that an execution was to take place ? We 
were not kept long in suspense — two guards approached, 
leading the culprit between them with his hands pinioned 
behind, and his head bare. He was placed upon the scaf- 
fold facing the palace, he did not appear more than nine- 
teen years of age ; remarkably fine featured, but pale as 
death. I thought of the "Lion's Mouth," and the accursed 
oligarchy of Venice — of the Ducal Palace by my side, 
the sepulchre of dark deeds — and it required but the pale 
victim before me to carry me back to that age of terror 
when the Bridge of Sighs was the passage to the tomb. 
To what height this train of thought might have " piled 
the agony." I know not, for it was cut short by the 
appearance of some judicial functionary upon the balcony 
of the Ducal Palace, who, taking his stand between two 
particular pillars, proceeded to sentence the object of all 
this interest to ten years' imprisonment for sundry crimes 
too numerous to mention. The sympathetic populace 
hissed — the judge disappeared, and the criminal was led 
off in a twinkling. I felt disappointed — I had already de- 
termined that the Lion of St. Mark should greet me with 
something mysteriously shocking, and to be thus baulked 
in the very moment of what I thought its consummation — 
was extremely tantalizing. 

We returned to the hotel, and quizzed T with an 

account of the terrible execution we had just witnessed, 
and declared the party to have been a political offender, 
over whose death Austria forbid the slightest expression 



THE VENETIAN GIRLS ! 18 



o 



of sympathy. Whenever we approached any mention of 
the circumstances, we lowered our voiceis to a whisper, and 

kept T in a perfect stew during the greater part of 

our stay, through his reverence for the Austrian police. 
It was some time before he discovered the joke, from the 
fact of his being afraid to ask any body else about it. There 
is no difficulty in walking to almost any part of Venice, if 
one is acquainted with the many bridges which cross its dif- 
ferent canals; the people, too, are very civil, and when 
they see a stranger turning into a corte which does not 
lead to a bridge, they immediately cry out, "non pas- 
sata!" and soon give him the clue to the labyrinth. They 
are decidedly the gayest devils in Italy. It only needs one 
turn through the colonnades of the Piazza San Marco to 
establish that fact. This piazza is the largest dry space in 
Venice, and here the whole town congregates towards eve- 
ning to hear the music, and take their coffee or ice pre- 
vious to going to the opera — and a more brilliant prome- 
nade is not to be met with in Europe. The Venetian wo- 
men have a more dashy style and a more wicked sparkle 
of the eye than the Florentines — they do not wait to re- 
ceive a challenge, but their dark lustrous eyes say " qui 
vive" the moment you meet their gaze, and he must be of 
strange mould, indeed, who would not bide the encounter. 
But these are not the women Titian has immortalized upon 
canvas — they are quite a different-looking race, and one 
would seek in vain for the golden locks and softened fea- 
tures of his "Bella Donna." They are dark, imperious, 
and saucily-bewitching — with licentiousness in their gait, 
and a dreamy lolling voluptuousness in their repose, which 
makes them exceedingly attractible. The warm gaze of a 
Venetian girl, when unobserved by her guardians is pas- 
sion's essence, and the pages of romance could scarcely 
exaggerate the deeds she dare commit in her love's 
madness. 



184 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



LEA5^ XXIX. 

Venice, May 22. 
We bave changed our quarters, and got into quite an 
interesting neighborhood. Three chambers and a parlor, 
with the privilege of doing as we please. Our landlady is 
handsome, but far gone in that condition which ladies 
^'like to be who love their lords." The opposite windows 
present attractions of a high order, and have the con- 
venience of being accessible to a daring leaper — we can 

almost shake hands across. T has already opened 

communications with a little signora of sixteen, and I am 
preparing my battery against a superb looking modiste. 
She sits all day at the window, pretending to work, but she 
uses her eyes with more execution than her needle. There 
is every prospect of a desperate war. In the second 
story is a very suspicious looking craft, who neglects occa- 
sionally to draw the curtain at night, and thus affords 
T and D another delectable opportunity of in- 
dulging in their optical operations and dissolving views. 
I often hear their ecstatic whispers as I return from the 
opera, and am conjured by all I hold dear to go to bed in 
the dark, lest my light might give the alarm. The bravo 
as he lurks behind some pillar waiting for his victim 
draws not his breath more softly than these two ambushed 
admirers of nature. '' Peeping Tom of Coventry" was not 
to be compared to them — well, it is but another form of the 
picturesque, and the great maxim of travelling seems to be, 
to see all you can. \Ye are only a few steps from the Piazza 
San Marco, and quite convenient to the Opera House. Our 



THE BELL-CROWNED HAT. 185 

breakfast we discuss at Florian's, with the particular atten- 
dance of the melancholy gargon of that establishment — 
and our dinner " chez Marseilles," where we get miserable 
liquids, but excellent fish. Our gondolier is a short, thick- 
set rascal, who admires the women vastly, but knows 
nothing of " Tasso's echoes" or the melodious accomplish- 
ments of his republican predecessors. He is discreet with- 
al, and has a great outward regard for the police. Our 
principal and most honored acquaintance in Venice is a 
smuggler of cigars, who may be met, daily sauntering 
along under the colonnade by Florian's. He is a very 
equivocal sort of character, and might be the ruin of any 
ordinary man's reputation. The most striking part of this 
personage is his hat, an enormous, old-fashioned bell-crown, 
placed very sedately upon the very top of his head. The 
hat, regarded merely as a hat, would attract attention ; 
but when full of cigars, and balanced with exquisite nicety 
by the wearer, it becomes an object of intense interest, 
and many a sporting character would exultingly hazard 
two to one that it could not maintain its position five 
minutes. Yet, in spite of this apparent danger of a spill, 
its occupant will walk under the very nose of the sentinel 
on duty in the piazza, and approach a stranger in the 
most seductive form, with a real Havanna in his mouth, 
the ashes of which he allows to linger with great care 
upon its terminus, so as to attract the smoker by the 
beauty of its color and the strength of its tenacity. He 
will then manage to throw each pujBT of smoke into the 
individual's face, and thus add flavor to his already 
charmed vision. The effect of this combination is irresis- 
tible, particularly to a poor devil who has been wasting 
breath and life out upon the " segar mechanique," ^' the 

snipe's bill," as D calls them. Our smuggler to cap 

the climax, immediately removes the precious '' bell- 

16* 



186 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



crown," presents his array of exotics, and underbids the 
government with the stoicism of a patriot or the sublimity 
of a philanthropist whose heart bleeds at the sufferings 
of his kind. His manner is grand — it is not the syco- 
phantic crouch of the Jew bartering for money — nor the 
sneaking stealth of conscious guilt disposing of its crimi- 
nal ware — but it is the Roman come to sell his jewels 
for his country, and as he sees one after another absorbed 
by the barbaric stranger, he smiles in self-gratulation, as 
though he were the inventor of a new pleasure, for which 
kings in vain had offered millions. He is an indefatigable 
promenader. Our coffee is scarcely sipped in the morning 
before the " bell-crown" is seen moving among the pillars 
of the colonnade — and the evening music as it floats 
over the piazza, finds him gliding about like a ministering 
angel. I have read of Otranto's casque, with its dark 
plumage — I have seen the helmet of Bayard — and gazed 
in silent wonder upon many a rusty morion, dug from the 
grave of centuries — but that " bell-crown" has a mysteri- 
ous, indescribable, strange and original physiognomic, and 
it would be idle to deny its entrancing power. The cha- 
peau of Napoleon has had its day — so had the boot of 
Marlborough — and may not the smuggler's hat have that 
innate germ of greatness which sooner or later ripens to 
maturity ? 

T and Q have taken rooms near the Grand 

Canal, and seem very busy in exploring the wonders of 
Venice. The daughter of their washwoman having first 

made overtures to T to become his mistress, and being 

refused made free with sundry Napoleons left negligently 
loitering upon his table. Byron says, " Hell has no Fury 
like a woman scorned," — a virtuous man must expect to 
be robbed either of his virtue or his money when he takes 
up his abode among these ocean sirens. To deny an out- 



THE "lions mouth! 187 

let to the little extravagances of a washwoman's daughter 
was cruel, and we have no sympathy for Napoleons water- 
loo'd in such fashion. The peculiar construction of Vene- 
tian society requires an occasional sacrifice of one's dearest 
principles, and though the moralist shrink at the idea of 
being seduced, the sage and philosopher yields with a 
grace to the pressure of circumstances — and cease to be 
the slaves of an atmospheric abstraction ; still to be can- 
did, the desires of a washwoman's daughter have no legi- 
timate right to aspire to a moralist's person much less to 
his Napoleons ; and had she contented herself with silver 
it would have been quite a justifiable proceeding, but she 
is evidently above her calling, poor girl ! How different 
would have been her fate had destiny made her the daugh- 
ter of our washerwoman ! — verily, narrow are the bounda- 
ries between failure and success. 

May 23. 
We " done up" the Ducal Palace to-day, from the Giant's 
Staircase to the Piombi. It was a warm, but interesting 
work. Whether the head of old Marino Faliero rolled 
down these same marble steps, is of no moment — we looked 
at them with the same interest as if they were witnesses 
of the deed. The present "Lion's Mouth" — for I believe 
the original was walled up — is situated on the first gallery, 
near the stairway, and has a very "knowing look." We 
ascended several flight of stairs, and were first shown into 
a sort of inquisitorial chamber, where state prisoners were 
examined, and, doubtless, tortured ; there was also a 
"Lion's Mouth" here — and a screen-work, shaped some- 
what like a confessional box, from the interior of which 
the examiner could ask his questions and remain himself 
unknovm. The door of this room led into the Council 
Chamber of the "Ten;" thence you passed into several 



188 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



large antechambers, one leading into the Senate Chamber, 
and another into the Reception Hall of the Ambassadors. 
This last is the finest adorned room in the Palace. Here 
are the Rape of Europa and the Venice Triumphant of 
Paul Veronese. We then proceeded to visit the dungeons, 
the great object of interest. 

The Piombi, which are immediately under the roof, and 
from whence Cassanova escaped, did not appear so terrible 
as we had anticipated ; but the Pozza are enough to satisfy 
the most ardent admirer of the dismal. Byron asserts that 
there was yet another tier under these, below the water 
line of the cp^nal, but that they were filled up on the ap- 
proach of the Prench. God knows ! these are bad enough 
without imagining a '^deeper depth." They all open upon 
a narrow passage, intersected with doors, and terminating 
in a small square recess, facing the Canal, where the crimi- 
nals were strangled, and then passed over to the gondola 
without. Certainly a very convenient arrangement. The 
Bridge of Sighs is thrown across this same canal from an 
upper story, and communicates with a large prison oppo- 
site. We had great difficulty in getting access to it. We 
were sent from one custode to another — from the Palace 
to the Prison — each party asserting that the door on his 
side was walled up, but that the other was still open. 
There was evidently a great desire manifested to get rid 
of us without gratifying our curiosity. But on the Bridge 
of Sighs we were determined to stand, and the custode 
was informed that he should not get one kreutzer for past 
service if he failed us here. In the midst of our endeavors 
we were re-inforced by two Englishmen and some Italians, 
among whom I recognized my old flame, the Genoese 

Marchesi, with her handsome eyes. D immediately 

fell in love with her, and forgot the Bridge of Sighs. She 
certainly looked delicious, and there was no resisting her. 



THE "EKIDGE of SIGHS !" ISO 

request. Slie was a great ally, and the old custode began 
to give way, and promised, if we would wait fifteen minutes, 
till he found the real guardian of the fatal Bridge, we 
should be admitted. We agreed to wait tili sunset, and, 
in the meantime, visited the other side of the Palace. 

They have converted the Hall of Debate into a Library ; 
it is immense. The Paradise of Tintoretti occupies one 
end of it, and the other sides are covered with the different 
battles of the Republic. Above, close to the ceiling, are 
the portraits of the Doges, ranged in order, and so numer- 
ous, that they fill up the whole space. There is just room 
enough left for the last Doge. The black curtain of 
Marino Faliero is more powerful in riveting attention than 
the whole line of pencilled feature, and the eye singles it 
out at once with a mysterious and mournful interest. It 
breathes the vindictive spirit of patrician hate, whose 
mask was patriotism and whose aim was poAver, — and that 
Italian littleness of soul that could deny to valor and to 
worth its monument. 

We entered the Bridge of Sighs from the Palace side. 
Our guide was very anxious to convince us that it was 
never used for any other purpose than a mere passage from 
the Prison to the Palace, and back again ; but had such 
been the case, they would hardly have divided it into two 
passages, and then again subdivided one of these, so as to 
form a kind of cell. At any rate, a traveller has a right 
to imagine any thing he pleases. The Bridge of Sighs is 
legitimate ground for the imagination. Many a poor devil, 
no doubt found it a shocking reality, and would willingly 
have changed places in destiny with the foremost man of 
Areola rather than have crossed this sepulchral boundary. 

^D- breathed a sigh upon it— but it was for the fair 

Marchesi — an interpreter of love. What unsentimental 
barbarism ! The idea of making love upon the Bridge of 



190 WILD OATSj SOTVN ABROAD. 

Sighs ! I should as soon think of getting married in a 
grave-jard. But the fellow is far gone. 

" And what of peril does he deem 
In that tumultuous, tender dream ? 
Who, that has felt that passion's power, 
Ere paused or thought in such an hour V 

"Well ! there will be one rival the less in the desperate 
war against my fair neighbor. The Marchesi will shower 
glances upon him — and as he is perfectly satisfied with 
such unsubstantial food, there will be no harm done. She 
is rather hard to read — her gaze has two interpretations : 
it may mean "reward," but at the same time it hints, 
"I'm fooling thee." There is a sort of ' Gay Spanker 
twinkle in one corner of her eye, which shines like a steel- 
trap in the high grass. Probably the most awkward 
moment of a man's experience — always excepting his first 
entrance into the world — is when he mistakes the person, 
and is obliged to retreat before a laugh. It is nothing to 
escape under the cover of a storm, or threat of indignant 
innocence of any kind — but to have the full sunshine of a 
smile upon your retreating movement, it is horrible ! One 
is denied even the Parthian privilege of aiming an arrow 
in flight, for the enemy is peace herself. 



A SUBTERRANEAN FETE. 191 



LEAF XXX. 

THE CAVE OF ADELSBERG. 

Yenice, Mat 29. 
We have been to Trieste and the Cave of Adelsberg. 
We were persuaded into this measure by the glowing 

description of Q . It is doubtless all very fine when 

the weather admits of observation, but it rained perse- 
veringly from the moment we left Trieste until we returned 
to it. We were nine hours on the route, and when we 
reached the village, the hotel was crowded with persons 
from every section of the country round about, collected 
together to see the annual illumination of the Cave on the 
following day. However, when they observed that we 
were strangers, and had come expressly to witness the 
" f^te," they procured us quarters in a neighboring house, 
and told us to come to the hotel for our meals. Our room 
was none of the best, but then we were glad to get accom- 
modations on any terms. D slept on the floor. He 

was perfectly delighted with the familiar manner of the 
Dutch girls, and, though unacquainted with the language, 
loafed about squeezing their hands and waists in the most 
affectionate way ; indeed I was awakened in the morning 
by the struggles of a healthy little Dutch girl, who had 
courageously entered our room for the purpose of securing 
our boots to be cleaned ; but approaching too near to 

D 's sybaritic couch he had seized upon the fair spoil 

and was using the most expressive pantomime I ever wit- 
nessed. I laughed until the tears came into my eyes ; it 
was a- reversal of the Potiphar picture in the Barberini 



192 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

palace. She held back vigorously, and was trying to per- 
suade him in the best German that the row would wake 

her father, while D was attempting in indifferent 

French, to convince her that his intentions were of the 
chastest kind, and that he merely wished the customary 
morning salute. It was certainly a very innocent affair ; 
but doubtless the Dutch girl's experience had taught her 
that morning salutes under such circumstances were dan- 
gerous, so she persisted in declining the offer, and gained 
a victory over D and the boots. 

The illumination of the Cave took place in the afternoon, 
and it really was grand and peculiar. I was astonished at 
its extent. It is said to have been explored to the distance 
of three miles. Some of the chambers are magnificent, 
and, seen in the brilliancy of an illumination, realized the 
scenic beauty of the fabled halls of Eastern story. One 
of the largest was used as a ball-room, and decorated with 
becoming splendor. The music was excellent, and there 
was no want of spirit in the dance. It was a strange 
sight to grope among the smaller cavities about, and catch 
a glimpse of the peasants, with their peculiar white head- 
dress, dancing wildl}^, and to hear the music die away in 
the distant passages, or be caught up by some gay crowd 
of loiterers, and echoed back again like the answering cry 
of spirit unto spirit. I thought of Faust and the Brocken. 

In one place the Cave looked like the ruins of some 
ancient city. Far as the eye could reach lay broken 
columns, and from their midst rose fantastic shapes, like 
shattered temples or falling palaces. It required but a 
slight exercise of the imagination to reconstruct the archi- 
tectural fragments. In the " draped chamber" was the 
perfect representation of a flag standing against the wall ; 
— the sculptor's hand could not have framed a more beauti- 
ful resemblance. We remained until five o'clock, and 



BYRON AND MOORE IN VENICE. 19 



o 



reached Trieste in time for the morning steamer. It is a 
clean-looking town, and the Hotel Metternich has the 
best beds I have found in Europe. 

We had a somewhat rough passage back to Venice, and 
I had a delightful reminiscence of the Atlantic sea-sickness. 
It is enough to make a man curse three-fourths of this 
earth — that is, in a geographical sense. I do hate the 
liver — it is the meanest contrivance in the system. It 
interferes with every thing, besides making one so deuced 
yellow. Heaven knows I I always envied Buckingham 
when Richard called him a "white-livered renegade." 
He was one in a thousand to have had the advantage of a 
white liver. The approach to Venice from the Adriatic 
is one of the finest pictures in the world. It is truly as 
if the "enchanter's wand" had been at work, and trans- 
formed the spray of ocean into town and citadel, dome and 
palace, in derision of the stormy element. It is not to be 
wondered at that to such poets as Byron and Moore it was 
a delight to float by the hour upon the quiet water, and 
watch the distant city fade away in the soft twilight of a 
Venetian sky, — more like some fancied creation of their 
own than a reality, or to leave their midnight revel and 
glide from its distraction on their watery course through 
vacant streets, and beneath the very shadow of these 
ruined records of republican pride, and thus indulge in 
those mournful reflections which only the verse of Byron 
could syllable. There are men who have no music in their 
souls, but we doubt if there lives a man so sublimely 
stupid, so enviously apathetic, so malignly indifferent, as 
not to feel somewhat more than mere existence as he floats 
noiselessly through the moonlit passages of Venice. There 
is something in the species of locomotion — something in 
the visible signs of life, yet the melancholy silence of 
lifelessness around — something in these dark shadows 
N 17 



194 WILD OATSj SOWN ABROAD. 

which rest side by side with the bright moonbeam like 
infancy and decrepitude — something in the quick splash 
of the water, and more than all in the wakeful thought 
of the bravo and this tempting scene of murder — some- 
thing in the deeds of this fiery people, in the once-myste- 
rious agents of. its masked power — something in every 
thing around, above, below, about you, which starts the 
indolent spirit from its apathy, like the emphatic " Mark 
me !" of the ghost of Hamlet. One may " damn the 
moon," and damn sentiment and poetry with it, but it is 
impossible for a sane man with money in his pocket and 
health in his veins, stretched in his gondola and keeping 
an appointment, to damn the clear, moonlight, midnight 
streets of Venice. 



LEAF XXXI. 

BYEON'S BEAUTIES. 

Venice, May 30. 
Went to the Manfrini Palace to see the picture so much 
admired by Byron — it is the wife of somebody by Guer- 
cino. This is another instance of the singularity of Byron, 
for there is really nothing remarkable in the face. It was 
a mere sentiment he was pursuing in his idolatry of the 
picture. Perhaps some objection made to it fastened his 
capricious nature upon its deification. I fear Byron was 
not a connoissieur in physical beauty. Neither Mary Cha- 
worth nor the Countess Guiccioli, present strong testi- 
monials of his taste in that department. I have seen 
them both, and I must confess, apart from their fame as 



DIANA AND ENDYMION ! 195 

connected with him, I should not have accepted a special 
invitation from either, if they were ever so disposed to 
give it. 

We are patiently waiting for the Regatta and Tombola 
to come off— but the rain has been so perseveringly con- 
stant that the authorities will probably postpone them 
until the next week; in which case it will be "Yarrow 
un visited," as we must hasten on to Switzerland. I have 

given all my Tombola tickets to our fair neighbor. T 

is very anxious to take her to the Lido, but she smiles and 
insists upon taking "mamma" along — it is " sempra mamma" 
to every offer of a ride in our gondola, and as this respect- 
able individual is not quite as attractive as her daughter, 

why T • don't feel disposed to take the jewel with the 

setting. 

The Count Chambord and his mother were at the opera 
last night. He is finer looking than I expected to find the 
legitimate branch of the Bourbons. She is of the Queen 
of Spain order of women, and from her appearance must 
have led rather a gay sort of life. They spend much of 
their time here, and appear to be popular. 

On my return from the opera, I strolled by the Ducal 
Palace to get a look of the Bridge of Sighs by moonlight. 
It was such a night as only can be found on the shore of 
the Adriatic ; — so still — so clear — so calm — so beautiful — 
the moon had banished half the stars from Heaven, and 
seemed in very fondness to have moved much nearer to our 
world's embrace. There was nothing cold or coy in her 
pale face — but full of the spirit of Endymion, she courted 
your gaze as though she sought another lover from the 
rank of mortals. I must have stood an houi? on the Bridge 
that connects the foot path by the Palace and the Prison 
— enchanted with the scene. Before me lay the sheet of 
water upon whose surface, so smooth and silent now, once 



196 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

floated the pride and glory of the world. How much of 
beauty and of power had landed and embarked on this 
deserted spot even before the land of my birth had a name ! 
How rich in association was every thing around me ! 
Heavens ! how I longed for the power to summon the il- 
lustrious dead ! What if the spirit of old Dandolo or the 
ill-fated Faliero could up-rise from fhose waters and give 
me but the features of the past ! The fiery souls — the 
impotent rage — the fell revenge that once ran riot in this 
lordly palace. The broken hearts — the silent anguish, 
and the deep despair this prison once entombed — what and 
where are they ? 1 paused and listened as though Tasso's 
music must strike my ear ; but no — silence all and solitude 
— not even a sentinel to bespeak protection or to tell of sway. 
The very murmur of the Adriatic was hushed, I grew 
melancholy under the influence of such outward grandeur 
and beauty, and I no fond eyes — no kindred heart to share 
it with me — as well be inurned in the Bridge of Sighs 
above me, I thought, as I turned to leave the enchanted 
ground. 

After all, what is travel — what are reveries— what even 
thoughts, if love do not light them with his rapturous torch 
— if willing lips and listening ears be not there to give an 
echo to the utterance of the o'erfraught heart ? There is 
no pang to be compared to the loneliness, the inanity with 
which we turn hotel-ward — (for it is not homeward) — from 
a scene like this, when it has been unshared by love. I 
have often thought that Providence might have so arranged 
to keep the women in the clouds until we had something 
really worth sharing with them, and then dropped them 
down as we wanted them, like apricots or any other deli- 
cious fruit ; — but I am wandering from my travels. 

There is a good specimen of the species Englishman 
here. We breakfast together sometimes at Florian's ; — 



THE PINCH OF SNUFF. 197 



lie thinks the greatest calamity that has befallen England 
since the fire of London, is the death of Crockford, with 
the stakes of the last Derby undecided. I asked him if 
there was no other man in England to decide the difficulty. 
^' Another man in England ! Great God ! Sir, there is 
not another Crockford in the world." Consequently the 
world must be in a bad way. 



Milan, June 17. 

We could delay no longer in Venice, and were obliged 
to leave without seeing the Regatta and Tombola. The 
sun broke out most gloriously the very day of our depar- 
ture after a rain storm of seven days' continuance, and 
Venice never looked lovelier than when she threw back the 
gilded radiance of her domes and towers upon our parting 
gaze. 

We took the railroad for Padua, and I had the misfor- 
tune to get seated by the side of a snuffy old gentleman 
who would talk French, and would insist upon my taking 
a pinch of his miserable dust, which had never seen a to- 
bacco plantation, and had no nearer relationship to snuff 
than chalk has to cheese. It could no more draw a sneeze 
out of me than influenza could a sentiment. I endured 
the martyrdom for some time, — at last I told him my friend 
had some snuff, made in America, but that it w^as weak com- 
pared to his own. He expressed a strong desire to try it. 

I called to D to hand me his box ; it was regular Mac- 

caboy — powerful stuff — the grains almost the size of a 
Southern bed-bug ; the very sight of it used to make me 
sneeze. I handed the box to the old gentleman, and said 
if he wished really to enjoy it he must dive deep with his 
fingers. He was an old snuffer, and consequently knew 
how to gather up a small wheel-barrow load, and deposit 
it in his proboscis. There was no occasion in this case to 

17^ 



198 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

encourage it by a shake of the nose. It had scarcely got 
there before the veteran opened such a terrific sneeze that 
all the passengers started in amazement. He gathered 
strength at each spasm for a new outburst, and at each 
lull as he turned to express his astonishment and gratitude 
to me, away went his head until a perfect shower of mist 
enveloped him, and I began to fear the old gentleman's 
nose would pay the forfeit for such excessive enjoyment. 
We left him sneezing in the depot at Padua amid continued 
effort to tell me at parting that America must be an extra- 
ordinary country, and that he owed to me the most deli- 
cious moment of his life. How he ever can stoop again to 
vulgar dust is a query. We had a dreadful time getting 
to Yerona ; the diligence was crammed — the horses slow— - 
the heat excessive — beside being cursed with an irritable 
Frenchman whose trunk had been left behind — and who 
would allow no other idea to engage our attention, but his 
trunk. He did nothing but talk trunk, and would eat 
neither dinner nor supper, because " he had not his trunk." 
To get rid of this incessant reference to his "malle," 
which had become our "mal," I offered him my trunk and 
its contents, but nothing would satisfy him, and if any 
man ever deserved a '' night-mare" from over-eating, I do 
hope that scoundrel was shut up tight that night in his in- 
fernal trunk, like the poor girl in the "Mistletoe Song." 
At Yerona, I did not go to see the tomb of Juliet, be- 
cause I want no humbug associations connected with Juliet. 
It is too sweet a story to seek a record for it beyond the 
imagination. We are rather pleasantly quartered here, 
and will spend at least two weeks, and then for the gla- 
ciers and the sources of *' the arrowy Rhone." 



THE ROCK-CRYSTAL COFFIN". 199 



LEAF XXXII. 

MILAN. 

f 

Milan, June, — 18. 
It is too warm to work hard. The summer sun is upon 
US, and I take no delight in panting through the streets of 
Milan like a fagged-out ballet-dancer. We climbed to the 
top of the cathedral to-daj, and though I had vowed nevef 
to be caught again fluttering about the eaves of these 
" cloud-capped" buildings, I did not regret the exception 
made in this case. You can form but a poor idea of the 
exquisite work lavished upon this Cathedral looking at it 
from below ; it must be seen from above to appreciate the 
almost endless labor absolutely wasted upon ornaments too 
minute to be detected without a careful examination. It 
looks like a flower-garden done in marble. The architect 
has wrapped himself in a cambric lace shroud, jand may 
defy the world to produce another such monument. After 
crawling about the roof for more than an hour, I proposed 
" doing up" the entire edifice at once, so we proceeded to 
the vault beneath, where sleeps the dust of the famous 
Carlo Borromeo. What a homily is here ! Within walls, 
encased with silver, and wrought in the highest perfection 
of art, in a cofiin, framed entirely of rock crystal, with a 
jeweled crosier in his hand, and gifts of priceless value 
from empresses and kings strewn above him, lies a withered 
skeleton, called Carlo . Borromeo ! He looks like a thou- 
sand others I have seen in charnel-houses, and I question 
whether twenty francs is not too much to pay 'for a sight 
of the accessories to this defunct gentleman. I was pon- 
dering this matter over very seriously as I came down the 



200 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

steps of the Cathedral, when I was somewhat startled by 
the abrupt infamous offer of an outside scoundrel, to pro- 
cure a woman for me. I cannot say I felt all the indig- 
nation necessary upon such an occasion ; but I turned and 
asked the villain whether he had ever paid twenty francs 
to see the mummied remains of Borromeo. He crossed 
himself, and declared if the saint had got that much of 
my money to-day, he must postpone his little business 
until to-morrow. I could not but admire the respect 
with which he deferred his claim to that of the saint, as he 
called him — though I suspect a casuist might have his 
doubts which was the strongest. 

We amused ourselves afterwards with a stroll through the 
market place. It was mostly occupied by women skinning 

frogs, and as T is determined to master the dissecting 

department of science before returning home, we took an 
accurate survey of the operation. It is done very expertly 
by means of small shears. The unhappy croaker is taken 
out of the basket alive, and before one thought of his 
native puddle can come over him, he really undergoes the 
same process that Solomon only threatened to that dis- 
puted child mentioned in story. The hinder portion 
is then quickly flayed, while the other half sits quietly 
blinking its eyes at the skinned remainder of its own ana- 
tomy, which hangs on a string before it. If these frogs 
have any sense of pain, their fate is decidedly worse than 
those writhing eels that evince such an antipathy to being 
skinned. True, they may have a greater fund of philo- 
sophy to fall back upon, and may feel a pride in taking 
their martyrdom so stoically. Your frog at best seems a 
melancholy animal. Bad style of habitation makes him 
dismal. They probably can never get over the idea of 
having been once used as a plague. 

By the Avay, what can we do at night ? La Scab 



ECCENTRICITY OF ART. 201 



Theatre is closed, and the Carcero is a poor affair. They 
played '' The daughter of the Regiment" last night, and 
the prima donna appeared determined to shew to what per- 
fection a war-whoop could be carried. The scream of 
Bryan's " waterfowl" sounds well in poetry, but it will 
hardly do to introduce it into the opera. It is the first 
time I have seen this character accompany herself on the 
drum. That would be a great " card" at home, although 
I hardly think that Donizetti ever intended it. 

The paintings here are not so fine as I had anticipated. 
There is but one gallery worth a second visit. " The last 
Supper," of Da 'Yinci, in the former refectory of Sta. 
Maria del Grazia, is familiar to every body, from the many 
eno-ravings of it scattered about. It has been cleaned and 
retouched so often, that little of the original remains. 
There is a very singular picture by one of the old masters 
in the " Academic de Belle Arte" here. It is a Christ, 
habited in a straw hat, instead of the glory which usually 
surrounds his head. I presume the painter supposed his 
predecessors had exhausted the subject, and he was bent 
upon introducing some originality into his method of treat- 
ing it. There is certainly a vast difference in the effect, 
and I could not abstain from a sense of the ridiculous as I 
examined the jaunty manner in v/hich he had stuck the hat 
on the back of the head. It was the sublimity of Leghorn. 
If that picture was painted out of the lunatic asylum, it 

is a master-piece. T pronounced it the poetry of 

straw, but questioned the chronology of the costume. 

In the Library of St. Ambrosia, they have the Virgil of 
Petrarch, and a lock of the hair of Lucrezia Borgia— both 
very interesting relics. I have not met with any portrait 
of this infamous woman, and I hoped I should find one here, 
but am disappointed, and must be content with this scrap 
of evidence, as to her extraordinary beauty. The color is 



202 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



flaxen, of the lightest shade, exceedinglj soft, and what 
might be termed the Teutonic style. I can easily imagine 
its connection with dark eyes and fair complexion must 
have presented great attraction. What pride these holy 
fathers can take in preserving this memorial of their for- 
mer intercourse with the most abandoned woman in Chris- 
tendom, is more than I can conceive. If history does not 
belie this dame, her amorous propensities and poisonous qua- 
lities were so universally indulged in, that she must have ex- 
perienced great difficulty to keep within the pale of "good 
society." Still, one would think this patronage from holy 
men should go far to exonerate her from many of the vile 
charges brought against her. Duke Alphonso never seems 
to have turned his jealous eyes in this direction, or he 
might have found cause to send a draught of the Borgia 
wine to some of the ghostly fathers of St. Ambrosia. How 
many " sly Joe Bagstocks" have figured in monasteries ? 
There is something very enticing in the quiet and cleanli- 
ness of this establishment. Give me ten years more to 
garner up a whole host of pleasant memories, and I should 
like to come and dream away the balance of existence 
among these placid old gentlemen, whose countenances 
bear no trace of those devouring passions that eat into the 
soul. What a place for twilight reverie ! What a spot to 
live o'er again the luxury of love — the anxiety of hate ! To 
see the bourne of every feeling that once agitated your 
being bounded by a grave, and yourself the empty casket 
from which every jewel has been pilfered by the treache- 
rous hand of hope. Alas ! what is left at last to every 
one but a rosary of sweet or bitter thoughts to pray over ? 
— and where can he find a calmer altar than these clois- 
tered palaces ? However, I am not ready for that sort of 
thing just yet. 

I was merely led into this train of thought by a solitary 



THOUGHTS IN A MONASTERY. 20 



o 



walk on the ramparts. I went in pursuit of love, and was 
disappointed. These kind of disappointments always in- 
cline a man to sombre meditation. The critics have written 
a great deal about Hamlet, his doubting nature, his want 
of will, his perplexed movements, and all that ; now the 
simple truth of the matter is, that any one of those critics 
can put himself into Hamlet's shoes if he only gets up 
one broken appointment on the ramparts of Elsinore, or 
Milan, or any other pleasant place ; and though Shake- 
speare don't say as much, still he leaves you to infer that 
Hamlet was a disappointed man. Why does he make such 
a row about his uncle's marriage, even before he is aware 
of any circumstances connected with it, except the haste ? 
Certainly his mother could not have been the first widow 
in Denmark who doffed her weeds in advance of the time. 



LEAF XXXIII. 

THE TOUR OF SWITZERLAND. 

RiCHENAU, June 1, — -. 
Here we are undergoing the necessary training for the 
great '' tour of Switzerland," on foot. From this point, 
where Louis Philippe once rusticated and amused himself 
by teaching mathematics, we intend to commence our base 
line, and w^oe betide the individual who will dare to mur- 
mur at the hardships we are to endure during this semi- 
philosophical survey of mountain land and waterfalls. — 
We have not exactly made a "quadruple alliance," as 
there is only three of us, but true to the democratic prin- 
ciple, we have pledged our lives, our fortunes, and our 



204 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



S 



sacred honors, neither to turn back nor to ride so long as 
the majority oppose the measure ; and as I shall probabljii 
always hold the balance of power in my own hands, the 
manifest destiny of the party is to suffer fatigue and blis- 

terdom. D is entirely too fat for gentility, and must 

be reduced to a respectable weight before we leave the 
mountains ; as to T , he persists in retaining his high- 
heeled boots, contrary to the advice of all pedestrians — 
but little men will pay any price for an inch to their 
stature, thus belying Scripture, and, what is more ridicu- 
lous in this case, trying competition with these eternal big 
mountains. 

I don't know what I look like in a chip hat, brogans, 
and beard to match, but hang me ! if my companions have 
not very much the appearance of escaped convicts. I 
never could have imagined that outer rig could have so 
much to do in making up the sum total of villanous expres- 
sion : and yet we flatter ourselves that we shall carry 
captive several short petticoats among these children of 

the mist. T intends dedicating his most assassinating 

glance to the conquest of Switzerland, and is now practi- 
sing a special * tilt,' but with blunt weapons, at a very 
pretty maiden of Coire, one of the neighboring villages, 
and wishes us to defer our journey until he wins her 
colors ; but Maria, as she is called, is evidently a coquette, 
and I am much mistaken if I did not catch her winking 
over our shoulders at a bandit-looking rascal in a hunting- 
shirt, with a cock feather in his hat. I told T as he 

had no " fiddle to hang up," he might as well hang up his 
boots, as they are just as emblematic of " occupation 
gone ;" besides, he had the precedent of Bombastes Furi- 
oso to hang upon. — The "little man" said I was jealous — 
gracious ! jealous ! the idea of a man with my beard being 
jealous of any thing but a goat ! or the statue of Moses ! 
I confess to a pang, when I saw that famous beard. \. 



THE LAKE OF COMO. 205 

On our way from Milan to the Lake of Conio, we took 
the top of the diligence, and had a glorious view of the 
snowy peaks of Switzerland. It was early morning, and 
the sun was trying kis best to warm them up, but like a 
haughty beauty, they spurned his homage, and only looked 
the colder as he kissed them. By Jove ! they are magni- 
ficent ! but I don't like contact with cold women or cold 
mountains — both freeze the blood, and make the air unso- 
cial — to stand and gaze upon them in the distance is 
enough for me, and I shall be delighted when I can mount 
the last pass, and say with Manfred :■ — " Farewell 1 I ne'er 
shall see thee more !" I could live for ever on the shore 
of Lake Como — it has all the beauty of our own small 
lakes, with a softness of landscape and a clustering of 
villas which they have not. I could hardly refrain from 
stopping a day to visit the former residence of Caroline of 
Brunswick, on its bank, but we have delayed too long as 
it is in getting into Switzerland, and I was obliged to 
forego that pleasure. Pasta also resides on Lake Como, 
and is said to be very hospitable to strangers. We left 
Chiavenna to cross the Splugen, at 5 o'clock, A. M. We 
had the usual difficulty in rising at that hour, and I am 
confident that breakfast was eaten in a somnambulic state, 
for we had no recollection of it as we toiled up the zig-zags 
of the mountains. I felt disposed to sell myself much 
cheaper than that pottage affair, and if an avalanche of 
bread had fallen about that time, it would not have carried 
us off: that I will warrant; for we had room enough for 
it if we had only chosen to spread ourselves. On the 
way, there was a fine waterfall just at the edge of the 
road, but like Custis' famous picture of the '^ Battle of 
Trenton," you must get flat upon your belly, if you 

wish to see it to any advantage. D refused to look, 

as he considered his belly too empty to lie down upon. 

18 



WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



We got our dinner at last, and never did representatives 
of famine obej their master with more alacrity. The 
servant girl was no bad index, during the first course, of 
one of their own cataracts ; she fretted, foamed, and 
dashed about with a terrible impetuosity, caused by the 
rapid succession of all species of demands, until she broke 
several articles of crockery, and overflowed a large tract 
of dry table, and sundry pantaloons stuif with the contents 
of a cruet ; this caused considerable diversion in her favor 
from the dry portion of the passengers, and I have my 
doubts to this moment whether the "spill" was an accident 
or a ruse de guerre to kill off the edge of the strongest 
appetites. We had only one lady passenger; her chief 
merit was a violent attachment to violets, and as it gave 
no trouble to collect them for her, I devoted myself to the 
employment; they grew in great quantities up to the very 
line of the snowy region— indeed, I culled a handful from 
the very bosom of the snow. The contrast was beautiful 
— the color so " deeply blue," so exquisitely pure, they 
looked like little fragments of a summer sky left sprinkled 
in the lap of winter. I wonder Juliet did not wish Romeo 
to be cut up into little violets, instead of cold stars, that 
are the least sympathizing of all lovely creations. Who 
ever found any solace in gazing at the stars ? But these are 
things to weep over. I really could have made a friend 
out of our fellow passenger for this one trait of character — 
she did not go into any passionate exclamation over the 
flowers, as your fantastic lady does, but she looked long 
and lovingly into their very souls, (for I know violets have 
souls) as though they recalled some dream of other times. 

She too has her associations, thought I, and forthwith T 

and myself made a sally upon the ^ sentimental character 
of the whole German nation — she defended the fatherland 
most eloquently, and said we English did not sufficiently 



THE IM^VfORTAL DRUMMER- BOY. 207 



distinguish terms as applied to different peo^Dle from our- 
selves—that the Germans did not recognize that mere 
mental existence entirely separated from the heart, which 
Bjron had called '* Nympholepsy," but with them both 
sentiment and imagination were feelings, and as much mat- 
ters of pleasure and pain, as the realities of life. I told 
her the English vfere just as eager in pursuit of a senti- 
ment, if it had a body annexed to it, and took as much 
pleasure in it as the Germans, but they never committed 
suicide from excess of sentimentalism : she said they never 
had as good a cause as that, for their suicides notori- 
ously arose from want of feeling ; and that, after search- 
ing every country in vain to find an emotion, they very 
composedly blew their brains out, or cut their throats, as 
though there were a peculiar kind of delight in ending the 
matter. As there w^as some truth in this remark, I found 
occasion to admire the scenery of the Splugen, and left 
the fatherland alone. How McDonald ever got over here 
with his army, is a mystery to me. It was a greater feat 
than his leading of the column at Wagram, when he bore 
the empire on his sword. I saw the spot where the little 
" drummer boy" was carried away by the avalanche, and 
was heard beating his drum for relief, far down the abyss. 
Poor little fellow I what a dreadful fate ! to be left there 
helpless, hopeless, with nought but the sky above, and the 
roaring torrent beneath, to call upon for succor ; to hear 
his comrades passing on their way to some field of glory, 
and he left to beat his last reveille on that narrow ledge, 
and then to wait for death, with the lammer-geyer swoop- 
ing around him, and these eternal hills mocking the agony 
of his heart in their impassible barrier ! Never mind ! the 
little fellow is immortal ; he is not the least interesting of 
that group of mountain memories which greet the traveller 
on his passage through these regions. The Via Mala is 



208 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

an awful-looking place, but the road is so level, and the 
diligence passes over it so rapidly, that one scarcely gets 
an opportunity to appreciate the grandeur of the scene. 
I regret now that we did not walk over this section of the 
road : but we shall get walking enough. I feel some curi- 
osity to witness the result of to-morrow's performance. 
Our guide has a Harvey Birch look, and by his quizzical 

survey of T 's boots, intends to give their proprietor 

"particular Jessie." 



LEAF XXXIV. 

OVER THE ALPS. 

Andermast, June 17. 
This may be very delightful some ten years hence, but 
no ancient crusader ever felt more disgusted at his own 
folly, when toiling about the hills of Ararat, than I do at 
this present moment. We have just closed what might be 
called the ''first round" in this pedestrian battle, and 
already our whole reserves are used up, and even the guide 
must be numbered among the cripples. We present very 
much the appearance of Falstaff's men, and I much doubt 
whether our respectable mammas would acknowledge us. 
I regret to add, that the vote taken this morning in the 
question of mules for to-morrow was carried unanimously, 
and a smile, something like the Indian who ate the mus- 
tard, was seen to play upon our faces. The second day 

was downright murder. D blew like an amorous bull, 

and T-^ presented a heel not many removes from the 

flayed Marsyas. Our guide emptied several raw eggs into 



WITj AND ITS EEWARD. 209 

his shoes, and declared it to be the best specific in the 
world for raw flesh. I thought the remedy worse than the 
disease, and told him they must have got their reputation 
for trampling upon yokes from that custom, but the stupid 
scoundrel would not see the wit of the thing, and I was 
most unmercifully fined a bottle of Rudesheimer. Served 
me right ! What business had I, amid our suff"erings, to 
indulge in humor ? Ah ! we were a gay party when we 
left Kichenau day before yesterday. But it was like that 
sound of revelry at Brussels : it only lasted a few hours. 
The first hill reduced our laughter to a mere chuckle, and 
as we pressed forward, the chuckle became a grin, and 
ended in a " ghastly smile," as we labored under a meri- 
dian sun in the narrow depths of Trons, looking anxiously 
for another pause in the footsteps of our inexorable guide ; 
but like that boy "Excelsior," up he went with our knap- 
sack on his shoulder, and we followed single file, each 
striving to hide his wretchedness in the forced vigor with 
which we struck our Alpen stick into the earth. God 
forgive me ! but I felt more disposed to stick it into the 
guide. 

At Trons, the end of the first day's labor, we compared 
notes, or rather sensations, and I soon discovered that the 
slightest encouragement of our feelings would produce a 
revolt, or rather an utter repudiation of the great demo- 
cratic principle. So I laid down the law anew, and tanta- 
lized T with a fear that he was breaking down. This 

settled the doubt, and next morning our pilgrimage opened 
with the fixed purpose of crossing the Ober Alps, or strew- 
ing the earth with our enfeebled bodies. The true spirit 
of the Switzer broke out, and we achieved the distance to 
Dissentis, without a murmur. Here we got an execrable 
dinner, and afterwards started off in a snow-storm for An- 
dermast. I shall never forget it. The flakes came so 
. 18=*' 



210 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD, 

thick that we could not see each other, much less the direc- 
tion of the path, and we soon lost all idea, if we had ^ny, 
of our whereabout. The guide admitted that he had not 
crossed this pass for seventeen years, and might have mis- 
taken the road, but said he should know exactly where we 
were when we got in sight of the '^ Ober-Alp sea," I con- 
sidered that we should be exceedingly lucky if we got a 
sight of any thing in such a blinding storm ; but on we 

went, like a thin procession of the " Misericordia:" T 

bringing up the rear; another Ney, in all save size and 

^' baton" — while D puffed up the hill in front, like a 

wounded buffalo. For myself, I soliloquized upon the 
idiotic character of our proceedings, and felt disposed to 
allow myself to be written down '^ an ass," if caught again 
in the same predicament. In the midst of the more ener- 
getic portion of my soliloquy, we came up to some chalets. 
We proposed a halt at once, and our guide opened a com- 
munication with the shepherds standing about us as to. our 
route to Andermast. I did not understand the patois they 
used, but was told by the guide that they refused to show 
him the way, unless he paid twenty francs for the informa- 
tion. We uttered a perfect shout of indignation. " This 

then is the land of Tell," says I, T replied, " these 

people tell nothing ;" forthwith we fined him a bottle. But 
it was no joke. Here we were lost in the snow, and the 
afternoon far advanced, to say nothing of the ruffianism of 
fellows who wished to levy a contribution under such cir- 
cumstances. Men who could do that, could murder, if they 

did not succeed in their robbery, but D insisted upon 

our refusing such an outrageous demand; "rather die 
first," — I did not care about going that far, and qualified 
it: "rather fight first," During the parley, the snow 
storm disappeared, and the sun burst forth like that of 
Austerlitz. Our guide said he knew the road now, and 



THE COLD bath! 211 



away we paddled, with some warmly expressed sentiments 
upon the contemptible conduct of such mountaineers. " No 
money, no Swiss," was very early verified in our experi- 
ence, and I shall have to read over several acts of devotion 
on the part of Swiss Guards, before they obliterate this 
record of their want of soul, not to say common decency 
and humanity. Talk to me about such scoundrels having 
any poetry in their carcases, or weeping in silence at the 
sound of the "Ranz des Vachs !" Mighty picturesque in 
their appearance, to be sure ! but I never want them intro- 
duced into my landscape again, under similar circumstances. 
May the temptations of St. Anthony afflict them forever ! 
It was five o'clock when we reached the top of the pass, 
and, thinking to shorten our route, the guide proposed to 
cross the Ober-Alps sea on the ice, instead of skirting the 
shore ; the cross-cut was too tempting to be resisted, so he 
led the way, and we followed. The snow which had just 
fallen, while it rendered the walking easy, concealed the 
danger of our enterprise. We had scarcely got one fourth 
over, when the guide suddenly disappeared in about sixty 
fathoms of water. As I came next in the order of succes- 
sion, and not being quite as ambitious as Van Buren was, 
*'to follow in the footsteps of his illustrious predecessor," 
I made the quickest kind of a full stop, and for a moment 
the chances were decidedly in favor of my running back to 
the shore; but just then the carpet-bag containing our 
ward-robe, and which had been strapped on the back of our 
guide, emerged from the hole in the ice, and I immediately 
harpooned it with my Alpen stick, taking it for granted 
that our guide still formed a part of that inestimable ward- 
robe ; in this I was not mistaken, and I dragged him out 
like a speared salmon. I did not care about remarking 
upon his appearance, as he stood catching his breath, but I 
should willingly have relinquished half my estate to the 



212 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



1 
I 



orphan asylum, if I could with propriety have laid 
down and laughed to the full extent of my desire. Aa( 
it was, we sympathized, " over the left," in his misfortune, 
and I shall some day go back to that very spot to have 
my laugh. Why the fellow went down like a pearl diver. 
T said he never saw a quicker stop put to conversa- 
tion; it was positively abrupt. I asked the guide how 
deep the lake was ; he said he found no bottom as far as 
he went; judging from the time occupied, he must have 
got as far as human plummet ever sounded. We were not 
slow in retracing our steps to shore again, with a full de- 
termination on all sides to keep to the dry land. I don't 
want any De Soto burial up among these mountain lakes. 
We were three hours getting down to Andermast. These 
distances are very deceptive ; a village appears scarcely a 
stone's throw down the mountain, and yet you are hours in 
reaching it. The down-hill movement is more fatiguing than 
the ascent, especially when one is too tired to hold back. 
It is like the hysterics : you get started once, and on you 
go, in spite of aching bones and high-heeled boots. I told 

T his heels would serve him as a break, if he would 

put some ballast into his breeches. He was just then too 
weak in the wind to reply, but he gave me a look which 
nearly shattered his spectacles. 

We took a rest on the brow of the last hill, and then 
walked into the hotel here like free-born Americans, who 
had just taken an evening stroll. If a man cannot be a 
hero in the eyes of his valet, he can at least assume an 
insensibility to fatigue in the eyes of a tavern-keeper, and 
that is something ; but with me, heroism has considerable 
to do with fried potatoes, and it was not until I despatched 
an indefinite quantity of this anti-succulent, that I felt dis- 
posed to add my share of gas to the flaming narrative with 
which D was indulging his own fancy and the credulity 



HERE WE ARE !" 213 



of a flaxen'haired Dulcinea, who plays the ministeriDg 
angel here to our mountain appetite. 

We take another guide to-morrow. Our Harvey Birch 
is obliged to return to Richenau. He swears we are the 
most thorough-paced pedestrians that ever crossed the 
^^ Ober-Alps." But then I suspect his pay had something 
in connection with that opinion. However, there is noth- 
ing like leaving a good character behind. It is a nuisance 
here to take it along with you. 



LEAF XXXV. 

ON THE ALPS. 



^ Chalet on the Grimsel, June . 

"Here we are," as the clown says in the Circus, but 

whether we will add any thing more to the performances 

of this day, is very questionable. It has just commenced 

raining furiously, and D has pronounced himself in a 

high fever, and " horsdu combat" for the next twenty-four 
hours. The idea of spending the night on the top of the 
Grimsel, with the Falls of the Aarr roaring in your ears 
and a pine board to sleep upon, is highly picturesque, but 
whether it v/ill turn out very gratifying depends somewhat 
upon the amount of " Kerchenwasser" still left in our flask. 
If we cannot rise above them, why we must drink our- 

i selves down to the circumstances. T is already making 

I that effort with every appearance of success ; indeed it is 
I not very encouraging. I have just finished an inspection 
I of the larder, and am positive that I could eat through the 



214 WILD OATS^ SOWN ABROAD. 

"vvhole provisionarv department, but the kind old lady here 
declares she can find me as many potatoes as would servo 
a regiment, and with that consoling announcement I can 
rest content. At this present moment we present a rather 
interesting picture ; there is the guide, half lost in the 
amplitude of an Alpine fire-place, pretending to assist the 
" old lad}'" in some frying arrangement, but in reality se- 
curing his own meal, for fear the material should not hold 
out. The '^ old man" of the chalet is busy in another 
corner, working up a series of artisticlittle wooden chamois 
and Swiss cottages, intended for certain kinds of paternal 
travellers, whose nurseries haunt them even on the top of 

the Grimsel — while D wrapped up, not in the martial 

cloak of Sir John Moore, but in the combined wardrobe of 
the whole party, is stretched out on a bench, apparently 
meditating on his past conduct and future reform. "We 
have promised to bury him above the regions of perpetual 
snow, where the devil's fire would go out if he came after 

him. As for T he might be pronounced half drunk, 

and is endeavoring to prevent a note of that fact from 
being registered in my journal. And as I am writing on 
the end of the ''old man's"' work bench, he has, in this 
effort, played the deuce with a little wooden chamois, which 
he has knocked from its elevated position on the top of a 
rock, into the chimney of a Swiss cottage with tlie loss of 
both the creature's hind le^rs. He shall pav for both of 
them before we leave. I do hope it will cease raining, 
otherwise we shall have to look at the Falls of the Aarr 
from under an umbrella, which might be called Ivik.ag that 
single step from the sublime to the ridiculous. The mules 
have been banished. We tried them for one day only, in 
our passage of the Furca ; they are too slow : we were 
eight hours in crossing, though it is by no means a difiicult 
pass, and the fatigue was even greater than in walking, for 



THE MOUNTAIN EXPOSE. 215 

you are exposed to a vertical sun and exccBHivo clo»o atmos- 
phere, in these narrow valleys, and require tliat buoyancy 
of spirit -which walking gives to counteract tlio sense of 
oppression you feel ; besides one seems much more suscep- 
tible to the discomfort of the travel, from the listless, 
poking manner in which those animals descend the moun- 
tain. I retained my seat as far as the glacier of the lib one, 
and then surrendered my mule to the guide, and led oft' on 

foot ; T followed suit, and in our descent to the IIos- 

piz of St. Gothard, we amused ourselves by sliding the 
short cut on the snow down the sides of the lesser hills ; it 
required some dexterity to steer clear of the innumerable 
lakes scattered about, as wo did not wish to repeat our ex- 
perience of the L>ead Sea. At the Glacier of the Rhone, 
we met an adventurouH German woman, who was being 
carried by tho gu id o in such a peculiar manner, that wo 
were obliged to take in a survey of her ** continuations." 
Her sight of the Glacier cost the game priee 'W'hich the 
"modd artiste" pays for a living ; bmt then her audience 
v/aH Hf;lor;t, and as she was quite pretty, we felt di»po»ed to 
~par<; borj and not look back too often, though the »e1f- 
dfTjial wan ^- - - ' ■- - ^vo had not seen a handsome 
f,v^ rnijcb .JO, for a week. From the top 

J. /.^; y^, first ^]2^TiG& over the snowy crenin 
of t'^ f^ niese chain* It was not a y(^ f^LVotMe day ; 
t pt "curh'ngup," and tearing it«elf to tatt^ru 

lofty peak of the Fjn«ter-Aarr-Hom, inM^Wir 

]l:2 liii ;vit;i the promise of a clear outline if we (m]j yraiited 

]'.'■■ r ' ^ * ^ ' rtild not reeogmze the delight of being 

... .iOW, and gassing like a "natural" at 

prophetjj," «o I promised to meet them once 

icd my hce toward* the Hogpi^, leaving to 

ij - .0 t?j k of admiration for the»e glader-hearted 

monarchs. We hare hired him to do the exclamatory pari 



216 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 



of the business. But really these mountains are grand,— 
not in the cockney sense, — but sublimely grand. As Amer- 
icans, we can afford to quiz their lakes and waterfalls ; but] 
what can we say to their magnificent mountains? We crawl] 
upon their huge sides, for hours and hours, still toiling up 
and upwards through mist and cloud, until the blue of 
heaven seems just above you, and the hue of earth immea- 
surably below, and still you mount and mount, through 
snow and ice, along lakes and over torrents, and when you 
think the last icy barrier is scaled — behold ! a ^' multitudi- 
nous sea" of never-surging caps spread out before you, far 
as the bewildered eye can range along their eternally snow- 
clad summits, — "Pelion upon Ossa," even to the horizon's 
verge. The mountains of Switzerland must be seen, — 
your Panorama will not answer ; they must be seen too, 
over their tops, when bidding ''good night" to the setting 
sun. Your tourist who stands at their base, opera-glass in 
hand, can positively affirm that he has seen them, but it is 
like kissing a woman in a dream ; you wake, and can barely 
remember that you have kissed her ; the real kiss you never 
forget. But here comes dinner ; would it were a mountain. 

Metringen, June 20. 
*' Richard's himself again." We have had a delightful 
day ; all our obstacles are now removed. We surmounted 

the last, viz. : T 's boot heels, in this very village, and, 

like other conquerors, we should erect a pillar to comme- 
morate the circumstance. The fact is, these boot heels, on 
the second day out, began to resemble small specimens of 
the leaning Tower of Pisa, and I recommended instant de- 
capitation, but the self-will of T was proof against all 

my assaults, to say nothing of the inconvenience to him- 
self, until finally, in attempting to hold back on one of the 
steep grades of the Grimsel, the " towers" gave a twist, 



THE ^^LAST ROSE OF SUMMER." 217 

« 

and away went T , heels and all, to the bottom of the 

hill. He was whistling the " Last Rose of Summer" when 
he started in this ^'down train," but the rapidity of his 
movement interru^ed the melody, and I expressed my 
surprise that he did not throw one of the bars of that 
music across his course. He promised if his "gay com- 
panions" would only stop, the "heels" should be sacrificed 
at the next village. 



LEAF XXXVI. 

MOUNTAIN SIGHTS AND INCIDENTS. 

Interlacken, June 22. 
I AM getting heartily tired of SAvitzerland. It is a 
tread-mill country — up-hill all the time ; with the same 
objects, under different names, staring you in the face. 
Yesterday it was the Wetterhorn — to-day it is the Jung- 
frau— and to-morrow it will be some other "frau" or 
"horn," though they might each pass for the other as for 
any difference that I can detect in their physiognomy. 
The Great Scheidek, or Shylock as we christened it, — for 

it exacted more than a "pound of flesh" from D , is 

decidedly the most fatiguing pass we have yet crossed. 
Perhaps it was owing to its being more frequented, and one 
meeting, consequently, more annoyances on the road. We 
could scarcely go a mile without encountering some scenic 
humbug, got up apparently for our especial benefit, and 
which you feel disposed to put a stop to at any price. As 
there is only one path, you are obliged to play the " good 
Samaritan," and dress the wound with a balsam of "batz," 

19 



218 WILD OATS, SOWN" ABEOAD. 

or tumble down the precipice in trying to avoid the beg 
garlj infliction. The first assault we had took the shape 
of a "cow-boy," or, picturesquely speaking, a "peasant," 
with a "horn" long enough to serve for an aqueduct. 
Vie dubbed him at once the "Prolfesor of the Alpine 
Horn." He took up a position immediately in our way, 
and resting one end of the wooden "nozzle" on a rock, 
prepared for a blast. I begged him to turn the mouth of 
the " machine" in another direction, or he would blow us 
down the gorge of the mountain. "Let her rip!" says 
T — — , and the Professor poufed himself into the tube. 
Whether the proximity was too close to enjoy the music, I 
cannot say — but I never heard worse melody in my life. 
He gave us what he probably called a " fantasia," but a 
Durham bull could have taken the conceit out of him with 
one single quaver of his bellow. Poetry has much to 
answer for. This poor devil flatters himself that he makes 
the hills vocal with his windy diapason — whereas, if " old 
Pan," or any other heathen divinity, had survived the 
birth of Christ, they would have flayed him alive. Good 
gracious ! could it have been such a blast as that the 
Paladin once blew in Roncevalles ! 

We had scarcely recovered from this attack, before I 
discovered another ambush. We were mounting a narrow 
ledge of rock at the base of the Eigher, and just as we 
made a turn in the road, we detected a fellow, match in 
hand, ready to discharge what might be called " child's 
ordnance," a piece of gun barrel on wheels. We hailed 
this specimen of mounted artillery, and told him we only 
wanted one franc's w^orth of salvo. He said that would 
hardly pay for the powder. The "infernal machine" was 
charged to the very mouth, and I was delighted to escape 
from the chances of a fragmentary episode of iron being 
driven into my head. But I reckoned without my host : 



WAKING THE ECHOES. 219 

even a franc was good payment for stirring up the mountain 
echoes with gunpowder — so the villain fired his "petard" 
within a foot of us, and jumped behind a rock to escape the 
threatened explosion. Piz — fiz — went the priming, and 

down went T %nd myself, like learned pundits to the 

earth. I did not see what became of D — — , but neither 
of us heard any other echo but that of our own hearts. I 

kicked the venerable gentleman's cannon in the breeches, 

and told him either to give up the profession, or load like 
a sane man, and not attempt to rival the thunder with a 
gun-barrel. What could Byron say to such a fellow call- 
ing upon " Jura to answer from her misty shroud?" 

But we were not done yet. In our descent from the 
Great Scheidek to Grundewald, we had to encounter three 
damsels — not with deep blue eyes, but "clarion voices," 
ranged under a tree, prepared to salute us with a "yudle." 
Of all inflictions, this is the greatest. I was completely 
overcome at this fresh annoyance, and throwing myself, 
literally, upon a bed of violets, cried out, satirically — " If 
music be the food of love, play on." They took me at my 
word, and commenced the "mountain refrain" with an 
energy of voice that might have unroofed any thing short 
of the deep blue sky above us. But my heart was far 
away. I had looked up at that blue sky, and, like the 
"Dying Gladiator," my thoughts went back to those other 
hills it shadowed in its course, where loved ones were, and 
"yoodles" were not, and I hoped they never would be. 
Nature's voice is the only thing bearable among these 
mountains. 

At Grundewald we found a specimen of those princes 
whose principalities extend the area of a Lancaster county 
wheat field. His accessories were complete, but in a small 
way. He had his own secretary and his own segars — 
both treated alike — used to the last extremity. The 



220 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

secretary had the appearance of a caught rat, to whom the 
worst of cheese had been a too attractive bait, and whose 
glistening eyes are constantly scanning the wires of his 
trap. He was proudly prudent, too — his scanty allowance 
of one glass of Champagne from the Aince's pint bottle 
was left untouched, until the Prince made a motion to rise 
from table, when our secretary gulphed it down at a singh: 
swallow, like an intensely thirsty man. If the rest of his 
perquisites have the same degree of vastness, he holds a 
fat office. The Prince was a sombre man, and looked as 
though the destiny which made him master of one secretary 
and a small box of segars was too overpowering for mortal 
to bear up under. Any romantic young lady might have 

detected a shade of melancholy in all this — but D 

attributed it to a robbing of his exchequer by the sale of 

two segars, which the said D had induced the gargon 

of the house to dispose of to him, and which sale the Prince 
had unfortunately discovered. The segars were really 
smoked in the presence of the Prince, and he doubtless 
felt that every whiff was tainted with the bribery and 
corruption of his whole household and principality. Alas ! 
poor Prince ! It is truly lamentable to see with what 
indifference an American takes an emperor's snuff or a 

prince's segars. D pronounced them real principes. 

From Grundewald we had a pleasant time over the 
Wengen Alps. The weather was particularly fine, and we 
loafed for several hours at the chalet on the top of the 
pass, watching for avalanches. The sun was very warm, 
and the guide assured us that if we would remain until 
noon, its rays would certainly unloosen an avalanche or 
two. It seemed rather ludicrous to be compelled to keep 
a looking out for an avalanche. My idea of such an article, 
taken, I admit, from a picture in some primitive geography 
book, was a huge ball of snow, with men, w^omen and 



WATCHING AN -AVALANCHE. 221 

villages struggling to get out. I watched the side of the 
Jungfrau until I fell asleep on a stray carpet bag, with a 
coronet worked in it, and neither saw nor heard of these 

Alpine playthings. T declares he never lost sight of* 

the mountain for a moment, and the only approximation to 
an avalanche was a fat Dutch woman, that got between 

]iim and the sun. D , on the other hand, swears to 

having seen at least two, and pronounces them no great 
shakes : has seen more fuss made by one snow slide from 
a barn roof — they made just about as much noise ; but the 
fact is, these gentlemen are highly prejudiced against any 
Switzer entertainment. There must be something grand 
in the fall of an avalanche — ^but not seen from that dis- 
tance. The terror of danger is wanting, and the roar is 
not sufficiently distinct. It will be a capital subject to 
gas about when we get home, and I have no doubt full 
justice will be done to the size, noise and confusion of the 
whole race of avalanches. 

We came from Lauterbrunnen to this place in a " chair 
h banc," as there is a fine stretch of level country all the 
way, and nothing wonderful to be encountered on the road. 
The waterfall at Lauterbrunnen is a mere thread of spray, 
and the celebrated Falls of Reichenbach, which we had to 
pay to look at, are not worth the walk across the meadow. 
The descent into the valley of Lauterbrunnen settled the 
long-vexed question of whether up-hill or down-hill was 

preferable. T , as the champion of the down-hill 

movement being the least fatiguing, was obliged to sur- 
render his point, for there was no defending against 
nausea of the stomach which it certainly did create in that 
unfortunate man. He died hard, even going so far as to 
attribute the nausea to the loss of his boot heels at Mey- 
ringen. The hotel here is full of English. They affect 
Interlacken very much, on account of its proximity to the 

19* 



222 WILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

Falls of Giesbach, and the Wengen Alps, which is a par* 
of their religion to see. 

Thus far, we have mostly taken the more difficult and 
unfrequented paths, and have not fallen in with the crowd 
of sketching tourists, who infest the lakes, and take rapid 
outlines of sundry peaks supposed to be seen by sunrise ; 
but we are pressing upon their heels now, and there is a 
sketchy-looking gentleman at this moment eyeing the 
Jungfrau out of a window opposite to mine, with that 
determined kind of Mahometan gaze which an amateur 
artist always bestows upon the natural "tit-bits" of crea- 
tion. He deems himself born to carry off the "Jungfrau" 
on the point of his pencil. His wife, or sister, or some- 
thing, is. at the other window, either reading Murray or 
peeping over the edge of it at the tom-foolery of a cockney 
and a governess on the lawn. T reports the govern- 
ess as having a cast in her eye : but this may be owing 
to a cast-off which he received from said governess when 
she noticed the tender rivalry of the Bond street man. 
He denies the impeachment, but I can take an affidavit 
of the fact, for I saw the whole manoeuvre, and noticed him 
fly to the consolation of a segar. 



LEAF XXXVII. 

THE VALLEY OF CHAMOUNIX. 

Chamounix, June 27. 

We are in the Vale of Chamounix — the grand climax to 

all Alpine aspirations. Poets have breathed prayers over 

it, and peasants have made its evening hymn immortal. 

Let the whole world come and look at it, and be silent, for 



A BEAUTIFUL INCIDENT. 223 



it is a temple worthy of the Eternal. Here closes our 
pilgrimage of the mountain passes. The cities and lakes 
are yet to be seen, but they are accessible to char a bancs 
and steamers. Our trip on the Lake of Brientz was quite 
a relief, after strolling so long up and down hill. They 
did not give us sufficient time to examine the Falls of Geis- 
bach : but they looked pretty enough from below, with their 
margin of green meadow. We returned the same day to 
Interlacken, and next morning started for Kandersty, in 
order to cross the Gemmi. We were eight hours in getting 
over, but we loitered on the way to admire the magnificent 
scenery on every side of us. It is, beyond question, the 
finest, but at the same time the most difficult pass we have 
encountered. During the first part of the ascent, after 
you leave Kandersty, you must climb, as best you can, for 
hours over innumerable roots of trees interlacing the path 
in every direction, and when you have surmounted this 
difficulty, your route crosses for miles the debris which has 
fallen from the Kinder Horn, and which almost chokes up 
the pathway, until you reach the lake, near the top of the 
pass. Here you find plenty of snow and ice, which you 
are obliged to wade through, when you finally arrive at the 
culminating point, some 8000 feet above the level of the 
sea. The summit is one mass of barren limestone rocks, 
and has an exceedingly desolate appearance, but the view 
is superb. Mount Rosa is the striking feature of the chain. 
Seen, as we saw it, I prefer it to Mont Blanc ; the outline 
was very distinct : not a cloud to obstruct a single feature 
of its colossal proportions ; it rose high above the surround- 
ing peaks, and while they had already taken the shadow 
of evening upon their brows, it still reflected back the last 
roys of the sinking sun, like a true friend among parasites, 
answering the dying gaze of her monarch, with a lustre 
dazzling as his own imperial purple. We sat down upon 



224 "^T^ILD OATS, SOWN ABROAD. 

the rock, and watched the last golden beam as it crept to 
the utmost peak of Rosa, and then glided into heaven. 
The sight was beautiful ; it resembled love — love that 
lingers last when you are above and beyond earth's passions 
and its mockeries ; a love before fruition ; love as we saw 
it that day in the eyes of a young peasant girl, who was 
waving her handkerchief, in final adieu to her lover, far 
down the mountain, on his way to that sink of iniquity, 
Paris. He was probably to return, or she was to join him 
there ; be that as it may, she might never see him more ; 
but such a gaze as that poor girl cast along that rugged 
defile, I had never witnessed ; she seemed to throw her 
very soul in sighs after him ; in vain her mother plucked 
her by the sleeve ; in vain did we saunter by, and attempt 
to attract her notice ; there she stood in the middle of the 
path, entranced. There was that half smile of anguish on 
her lips, and in her eye : that tearful brilliancy which 
shamed even the rich glory on Mount Rosa. It was not 
the sorrow of desertion, and yet she had a hopeless look; 
nor was the pang of parting too evident on her girlish face : 
but it was a blending of all feelings with nothing predomi- 
nant^ but that full, wild, wistful, worshipful intensity of 
gaze that made me envy the mortal who could awaken it, 
and adore the woman w^ho possessed it. But what was our 
admiration to her ? Her soul was in that russet jacket, 
far down the mountain. The wooing of a king, with pro- 
vinces for a dowry, would have found no approval in her 
widowed smile. Yes, she resembled the sunset on Mount 
Rosa. She, too, was wrapped in the radiance of a parting 
glory ; she, too, reflected it back upon its giver, with all 
the glow and adoration of a pure and unstained bosom, and 
from thence it doubtless passed to heaven ; for with all that 

T and myself could do, it tarried not on earth for us. 

When the mountaineer was out of sight, the vision too was 
gone. 



A SHOT WITH THE "LONG BOW." 225 

The descent from tlie Gemmi to the Baths of Leuk is 
almost perpendicular, and the timid traveller, trusting to 
his mule, is advised to have his ejes blindfolded ; we saw 
no occasion for such precaution ; the zigzag terraces in the 
rock are sufficiently wide for passing, and have parapets 
throughout the whole length, so that it would be difficult to 
fall over the precipice, even if you tried to do so. It was 
only here and there that you could find the parapet suffi- 
ciently low to get a good look into the abyss beneath. It 
was frightful ! The lateness of the hour served to add to 
the gloom and desolation of the scene. 

We had lingered so long on the Pass, that the candles 
were lit before we reached the Baths of Leuk. Our guide 
did not get in until 10 o'clock. He had been obliged to 
take a rest, and we travelled the greater part of the descent 
^' on our own hook." Indeed, in traversing these passes, 
a guide is quite unnecessary, without you have baggage to 
carry, and then he is an essential feature, as it is labor 
enough to carry yourself over, without being strapped to a 
portmanteau, or some other receptacle of linen. 

From the Baths of Leuk we struck the Simplon Koad, 
and posted to Martigny. From there to this point you 
have two routes to choose from, the Tete ISToir and the 
Col de Balm. We selected the latter, as it gave us the 
best view of Mont Blanc. It is a tedious pass, and the 
wind was so strong, and the air so rarified that we were in 

danger of breaking a blood-vessel. D and myself did 

nothing but cough from the moment we crossed the summit 
until we reached the valley of Chamouni. It was the only 
time we suffered from this cause, but it was rather a 
severer test than I desire my lungs to undergo. It spoiled 
my first view of Mont Blanc. 

We yesterday made an excursion to the Montanvert, and 
returned completely drenched. As our wardrobe is on its 



226 WILD OATSj SOWN" ABROAD. 

way to Geneva, -we were compelled to make our appearance 
at the Table d'Hote in what might be called demi-toilette#f 
for the more substantial portions of our dress were drying 
at the kitchen fire. Had the young lady opposite to me at 
table known in what close proximity she was to a " sans 
culotte," it would have made the aristocratic blood tingle 
in her veins. As a matter of necessity, we came first, 
and remained last at the banquet. We opened a counter- 
blast to an Englishman, who was narrating various terrible 
elephant stories in India, by a fictitious account of a cele- 
brated hunt of the ''wizard weasel" on the Rocky Mountains. 

T quietly corroborated all I said, and as he wears 

glasses and talks sententiously, he has all the appearance of 
a savan, and consequently added considerable weight to the 
otherwise improbable account of this animal. I think we 
gave a Roland for an Oliver; and I expect to see the 
" wizard weasel" flourish in some forthcoming note of Gold- 
smith's animated nature. 

I have tried several times since our arrival here, to get 
a good look at the topmost peak of Mont Blanc, but there 
seems to be an endless succession of light clouds floating 
around it, and I have no disposition to loaf in this valley 
until the monarch thinks proper to doff his feathery cap. 
The fact is, I begin to weary of these eternal mountains, 
with their snow and glaciers — their torrents and their 
avalanches. The are like some water-cure establishment 
on a large scale. You are alternately wet and dry — cold 
and hot; and the balance of the time is consumed in 
"walking" up hill. The efficacy of the treatment is shown 
in the enormous quantity you eat, and the dead, dreamless 
character of your slumber. If I stay here much longer, I 
shall become distressingly healthy, and where then will be 
the excuse for revisiting the many spots I have left un- 
laughed over ? 



MT. BLANC AND A FULL STOP. 227 

By the way, it strikes me that I have consumed enough 
of paper, and crammed a sufficient amount of nonsense 
into these Leaves to make a pause ; besides, I have too 
great a respect for Mont Blanc to introduce a description 
so near the end of my Blank Book. Fanny Kemhle closed 
with Niagara ; I will make a full stop with Mt. Blanc. 



THE END. 



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